


Striking Round the Vein

by doodle_doo



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Battle of Azanulbizar, Bilbo lives in Erebor, Durin Family, Dwarves in the Shire, Half-Assed Khuzdul, Hobbits in Erebor, Hover Translations, M/M, Protective Siblings, Timeline What Timeline, Trope Inversion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 06:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2762483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doodle_doo/pseuds/doodle_doo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins has long given up hope of winning his soulmate’s heart. With meddlesome siblings, the new title of Hobbit Liaison to live up to, and a war brewing in the valley of Azanulzibar, Bilbo must scramble to face his challenges while balancing his own dignity and pride against a dwarf he loves but can't be certain would even call him a friend.</p><p>---</p><p>AKA a Soulmate AU in which our protagonist's <i>finding</i> his soulmate is the least of his problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I like to explore tropes that I’m not particularly fond of, and the idea of things not going quite as planned after finding your soulmate sunk its teeth into me and never let go. 
> 
> Needless to say, cannon is being thrown out the window unless it suits my purposes.
> 
> Translations should be hover-able and also available in the end notes for those on mobile or e-readers.

“You need more control over your blade,” Dwalin corrected, tapping the underside of Bilbo’s sword with his own. The hobbit’s eyes went wide as his blade swung high and he fought to regain control, mouth tight as if he could hide his struggle through sheer determination.

“Why d’you bother teaching him when he can barely even lift your lightest training blade? What’re you expecting for him t’use?”

Frerin watched as Bilbo glared over at Dáin who was, in turn, sparring with Thorin. Frerin knew quite well that Bilbo would _love_ it if Thrór decided to end his training, but that wasn’t what his cousin was actually insinuating. Frerin loved all his cousins, of course he did, but there was no denying that those from the Iron Hills held a certain amount of animosity toward hobbits, Dáin being outright dismissive, all the more problematic with how much Glóin looked up to him.

Frerin put it down to the fact that those dwarfs from the Iron Hills didn’t get to see hobbits except when visiting Erebor. It was true that _perhaps_ Bilbo didn’t make the best first impression when it came to a dwarf’s expectations (especially not with how today’s training was going), but they’d come around soon enough.

Taking his eyes off Dwalin to glare at Dáin was a mistake though. Frerin watched as Dwalin landed a blow near the hilt of Bilbo’s blade to knock it from his hands. The blade glanced across the surface of the packed dirt they were practicing on and onto the cobblestone surrounding it as Dwalin addressed him.

“Eyes on your opponent, pundurith,” he admonished.

“I _wish_ you would stop calling me that,” Bilbo admonished with an exasperated huff. The blow must have been jarring to his wrists; Bilbo shook them out before he turned his glare over to Dwalin instead. “Frerin _told_ me it’s not a compliment in your language.” Frerin winced into his smile, but still couldn’t help but laugh a little. Bilbo had been more upset than need be when he found out, but it had definitely been an entertaining conversation nonetheless.

Dwalin smirked back toward Bilbo, caught in his omission but unapologetic. Frerin could hear snickering coming from Dáin and a marked silence from Thorin as their blades continued clashing and grating against each other. Frerin didn’t like that.

Dáin didn't know that Bilbo would laugh and tell them their language was _unduly nuanced_ and _filled with far too many consonants_. He hadn't been there for all of the times that they'd laughed with Bilbo over translational misunderstandings; it rankled when he was forced to see that his Iron Hills cousins saw Bilbo in so less of an affectionate light.

The fact that Thorin was keeping silent on the matter entirely, his shoulders all of a sudden tensed and gaze trained with an unnatural strength to Dáin did not bode well.

“Lazy nicknaming is what it is,” Frerin interjected, turning his attention back to the other sparring circle. “Bilbo’s not _clumsy_. Have you ever seen a hobbit stumble even once? Sturdy little things, they are.”

“But is that even a compliment in _any_ language?” Glóin scoffed from where he was sitting on the sidelines next to Frerin. “It’s certainly not in Westron. At least not in the _Iron Hills_ , it’s not.”

Frerin didn’t bother holding back a roll of his eyes. One summer spent visiting their cousins and all the sudden it was all he could talk about. Glóin was at the age when he would want to join in on any type of joke, the novelty of being included with the adults a bigger draw than anything else, but wasn’t yet old enough to parse the nuances of the conversations. Frerin himself wasn’t so much older than him, Gloin's beard no fuller than his even though it had come in at _least_ two years before.

Frerin could remember the feeling well enough though, how strong that desire could be to be included in... _anything_  with your older sibling, but that didn’t mean it rankled him any less than it did the others.

“It may not be a _compliment_ many places, but that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t have to be an insult either,” Frerin settled on. He was silent a moment, listening to the renewed clanging of dulled steel against steel, before he leaned back over to speak to Glóin. “I imagine it’d be difficult for you to understand that it would be an insult if you were called _mugr_ in Sindarin,” he explained. “Elves see bears as clumsy and lazy instead of strong and fierce,” Frerin told him, miming ferocious bear claws, but he only received a scowl in return. He sat back on his side of the bench with an easy grin and let Glóin pout. “Bilbo taught me that, actually” he added as an afterthought. “Knows quite a lot about elves.”

“As if I would care what an elf thought of me anyway,” Glóin retorted. “You all spend too much time with men and elves and _hobbits_ here. I don’t understand why you bother when you have such rich mines.”

“It is for _trade_ , Glóin. Do you think we would be able to support half our people, allow them to live with such riches if we didn't open ourselves to the outside peoples? We are _lucky_ to have such relations with them.” Glóin just shook his head and turned back to watch the two pairs as they continued to spar, but that was alright. At least he had listened at all.

Frerin watched Bilbo pick up the hilt of his sword, the tip dragging an uneven line through the dust; Bilbo always complained that the practice swords were too heavy and ungainly. He was usually able to get through Dwalin’s training reasonably well, but the sight of sweat soaked curls so early in the day belied the fact that spending the summer in the relative relaxation of the Shire had not helped to uphold his strength or endurance.

“But look at those feet,” Glóin objected again. “How could they _not_ trip over them? I’m surprised he hasn’t sliced one of those things open yet, wandering around _barefoot_ , of all things.”

They both looked back over at Bilbo as he interjected from the edge of the training ring. “I’ll have you know, hobbits are very nimble on their feet-“

“Show us then, halfling,” Dwalin growled, “you were idle during your time away.”

They watched Bilbo make his way back into the training ring where Dwalin was waiting. “It was rather difficult to find a sparring partner back in the Shire, Master Dwalin,” he objected with a nervous, but annoyed huff. “Hobbits don’t make a habit of learning swordplay. And it’s not as if I was there for a mere social visit- You _know_ I was on business on behalf of _this_ kingdom,” he added with an impatient flap of his hand. “You would _think_ -”

“Doesn’t matter, _Master Hobbit_ ;. You fell behind and now you need to catch up,” Dwalin retorted.

Bilbo scowled and made a show of adjusting the overlarge leather vest. Dwarves were so much more broad-shouldered than hobbits. Before preparations for the wedding had begun, Dís had been considering having a more hobbit-sized one commissioned for Bilbo. Frerin was sure that it would be appreciated.

“Maybe I should head in early,” Bilbo tried. “I did promise Dís I would help her get ready-“

“It’s not even midday yet,” Thorin interjected. “She didn’t ask for your help until after lunch.”

“And you _know_ she’s got to be with Víli right now anyway,” Frerin added with a grin.

“Fine, then,” Bilbo sighed with a grimace, positioning himself on one side of the practice court. “But isn’t it bad luck for the bride and groom to be spending so much time together before the ceremony?”

Dwalin raised his sword and Bilbo hefted his into a defensive position.

“Bad luck?” Frerin asked. Bilbo couldn’t look over at him with Dwalin advancing, but he managed an affirmative grunt as he defended against the first swing. “No, not for dwarves. That sounds like a distinctly hobbit tradition,” he answered.

“No, um-” _Clash._ Bilbo stumbled back a few steps before continuing. “The men of Bree, right near the Shire, uhm,” _Clang,_ “they do it too.”

“Can you imagine trying to keep Víli and Dís away from each other that long?” Frerin asked with a laugh, “I’ve never seen a pair closer joined than those two.”

“It’s disgusting,” Dwalin agreed. “Lovestruck idiots.”

He just laughed, but Bilbo wrinkled his nose at Dwalin. “They’ve found their _soulmates_. I think it’s terribly romantic.”

Frerin heard a snort from Dáin and immediately wished Bilbo had kept his mouth shut. “Yes, just like how terribly romantic _yours_ is?” Dáin asked.

As long as he’d known him, Frerin’s cousin had been just as blunt as Dís, but without any of the well-meaning intentions. He said what was on his mind and that was the end of it. Frerin heard a grunt and heavy thud, and winced as he saw Thorin hit the ground from the corner of his eye. Frerin had enough experience removing attention from his brother thanks to their sister, so he knew just what he could say, even if he also knew it was far from a perfect solution.

“Dwalin is just jealous that he’s not Dís’ _One_ ,” Frerin distracted, and he winced even as the words came out of his mouth. He knew that Bilbo likely wouldn’t appreciate swinging a bad temper onto his training instructor, but it was the best Frerin could think of on such short notice. The alternative was letting the attention stay on Thorin, and he’d already been overly sensitive when it came to mentions of Bilbo in the week preceding his return. Today of all days they did not need one of Thorin’s tempers to take over.

Surely enough, Frerin could see where Bilbo’s eyes had widened under a sweaty brow, carefully watching an expression on Dwalin’s face that Frerin couldn’t see himself, but could certainly imagine quite well. “That crush was _over a decade ago_ ,” Dwalin argued before swinging a particularly hard blow at Bilbo. “It was a child’s infatuation, let it go!”

“ _That’s_ right,” Glóin mused. “I’d almost forgotten that Dwalin thought he could fall in love back then.” Frerin elbowed him in the ribs, resulting in a retaliatory punch to his arm, but the damage was already done even before Glóin had opened his mouth.

On the other training circle, Thorin and Dáin were brushing themselves off as they headed to the benches where Frerin and Glóin were sitting. Thorin gave his brother a rough shove to his already sore arm as he reached past him for the pitcher of water, leading Frerin to hunch forward in an effort to not spill water from his cup all over himself. He was not successful.

“I still think she’s rushing things,” Thorin groused. “Her beard’s not even fully grown in yet.”

Dwalin, seemingly still irritated with the prince’s accusations shot back, “You only think that because it makes _you_ feel rushed.”

Bilbo fumbled his sword at the accusation, and Frerin stood halfway up off the bench in case he needed to intervene, knowing full-well that Dwalin was itching for a fight now. He hadn’t meant to make things go quite so far; surely Dwalin didn’t actually still have feelings for their sister?

Frerin watched the ring and was startled to see that while Bilbo was crouched to pick up his fallen sword and Dwalin was distracted, Bilbo braced his arm and shot up, elbowing him between the knees.

Dwalin crumpled to the ground, clutching his groin and spouting strained obscenities. Bilbo quickly picked up the sword and skittered away, huffing breath as he made his way out of the circle. When Frerin looked over to the others, he was met with shocked expressions from Dáin and Glóin, while Thorin was doing a poor job of hiding a grin, even if he had still yet to look at Bilbo. Well, at least he wasn’t too angry.

Frerin, on the other hand, was putting no such effort into suppressing his pleasantly surprised expression, openly beaming at Bilbo’s underhanded move as he declared practice finished early. Bilbo took the proffered cup from Frerin and gulped down the water, before shucking the leather vest.

When he chanced a look back at the training ring, he could see that Dwalin was getting up and would likely be making his way toward them very soon. _Time to leave_.

“I think I shall be heading back to my rooms now,” Bilbo hedged, looking between Dwalin and the rest of the group. “I am in need of a bath before lunchtime.”

As Bilbo made his way out of the private training rooms and back toward the central atrium, Frerin scrambled to gather his things and rushed to follow.

“I figured I wasn’t going to be very safe back there,” he said when he arrived at Bilbo’s side.

“You did manage to offend both Thorin and Master Dwalin-“

“You have _got_ to stop calling him that,” Frerin interrupted.

“Master Dwalin?” he asked.

“Yes!” Frerin answered. “It sounds like you’re afraid of him when you call him that-“

“I am most certainly not _afraid_ , it’s only polite!”

Frerin only had to give his an unbelieving look before Bilbo looked behind himself to make sure nobody else was following, and lowered his voice.

“Perhaps he still makes me a bit _nervous_. But that’s hardly the same thing, and it’s hardly my fault!” he objected. “Dwalin is quite... gruff and _grumbly_ toward me, isn’t he? And just because he is a rude character doesn’t mean that I must be as well. I am a Baggins of Bag End, after all. Top notch manner, we have.”

Frerin huffed and shook his head at the ceiling far above them, putting only the smallest effort into hiding his smile at the reminder. Whenever Bilbo came back from the Shire there was no doubt in anyone’s mind what family he was from, even if it didn’t mean much in the mountain aside from his relationship to his mother. “He isn’t a _rude character_ ,” Frerin replied.

But Dwalin was rougher toward people outside of their group. And Bilbo at times. Frerin grimaced. He needed to backtrack.

“Perhaps he is. But it’s only because he can tell that he makes you nervous. He’s never liked it when people were afraid of him. I swear he wouldn’t be nearly so growly if you didn’t act so skittish around him.”

“Well,” Bilbo added, raising his voice as they stepped into the din of the main atrium, “that seems entirely his own fault if you ask me.”

Frerin shook his head in lieu of replying. They refrained from talking anymore as they made their way through Erebor’s main entrance. This was by far the busiest and loudest area of the city, save for the mines, and the only area open to visitors without a special escort.

The hall was, in true Erebor fashion, immensely extravagant with vast open space stretching several stories high and held up by imposing dwarven figures carved into the rock, enduring as the mountain itself; a testament to Mahal’s gifts of wealth and craftsmanship. There were vendors set up by the dwarves to trade with travelers from surrounding cities, the clattering sounds of hundreds of voices blending together into a nearly indecipherable cacophony of of noise.

The two weaved their way among the crowd of men and dwarves and the occasional elf, the room even more packed than usual due to the upcoming nuptials of the Raydûna. When they had made their way to the opposite end of the hall, they navigated to the next available cart of the harâzgund.

Bilbo had never liked this dwarven contraption, insisting that even with the sturdy pulley system, he feared it would fail and that they would be hurtled toward the ground to their inevitable deaths. But dwarves didn't have the same compunction about heights, building walkways over empty space and dangling themselves from deceivingly complex harnesses while working in the mines. Bilbo didn’t have much choice but to use them, though, unless he wished to navigate twenty-six flights of stairs (they had counted one year after a particularly bumpy ride up to their rooms) and the series of hallways connecting them.

Frerin hopped into the cart first, balancing himself against the tilt. Bilbo didn’t quite offset his weight, but the slant was not severe as when his brother was in the cart, the towering bastard. Bilbo climbed in after him and sat at the opposite end of the cart, gripping tightly to the sides and shutting his eyes against the sight of open air beneath them.

“Thank you for looking after my brother,” Frerin spoke after the cart made its initial upward lurch. Bilbo peeked an eye open at Frerin and let a hint of a smile tease the edge of his mouth.

“Ahh… It was more that I was looking out for _myself_ , if I’m honest.” Bilbo closed his eye again before he managed an accidental peek at the ground below them and then continued. “You know how Thorin gets when people make insinuations about that sort of thing,” he murmured. Bilbo’s face scrunched together, lines of annoyance forming at the left corner of his mouth. “ _Dwalin_ knows how Thorin gets,” he added with a scoff. “If he wants to taunt Thorin like that, he deserves what he gets. He knows better.”

“ _Ruthless,_ ” Frerin complimented. “These dwarves always underestimate you, but I know to keep my eyes on you.”

Bilbo snorted through his nose, a habit he liked to blame on his time with the dwarves, before chewing on the inside of his lip. Bilbo may disagree, but there really was much more going on in the hobbit’s mind than many of the dwarves in the kingdom gave him credit for.

“When I was younger, I always thought Master Dwalin would be the one to end up with Dís,” Bilbo eventually confided. “They were always so close. I remember being so shocked when she finally met Víli.”

“Mm,” Frerin agreed. He drew in a deep breath and released it again with a considering air above the groaning and clanking sounds of the rising cart. He reclined himself over the back of his seat, head hanging comfortably over empty space in a way he knew would make Bilbo cringe if he were to open his eyes. “I don’t think my sister ever felt that way about him,” he finally admitted, “but I can’t be sure how deep Dwalin’s feelings ran. I’m tempted to say it was deeper than he would have us believe, though.”

Frerin had never particularly looked forward to having a soulmate like his siblings had, whether it turned out to be a romantic sanze or platonic sanbah. The line of Durin was especially rich in such bonds, but at his age it seemed that Mahal had not blessed Frerin with one. Even so, it wasn’t as though he begrudged those who _had_ been given such a _One_. Not at all. He _was_  resolute, however, in his belief that those relationships forged outside of a _One_ were capable of being just as close and loyal and strong as those bestowed by Mahal, even if there were few who shared his belief.

It felt incredibly wrong that Thorin had for so long considered himself cursed by the very gift that many dwarfs wanted so desperately. No matter how often he spoke of it, his brother had no idea what an incredible gift he wasted.

Their ascent slowed and Frerin swung his head back into the cart, hopping out with a practiced grace before it had the time to stop, and then waited for Bilbo a few steps down the hall, just past a familiar pair of guards. When Bilbo had grappled his way out of the cart and caught up to Frerin, they continued down the lightly decorated stone floors indicative of the outer sections of the royal wing.

“They were always so close. You don’t think that will change because of the wedding, do you?” Bilbo asked as they neared his room.

It was true that there had been some tension between the two in the past year or so, but it wasn’t as if the two didn’t have a strong foundation in their friendship. It may take time, but things would surely work out. “I don’t think they’ll have much of a choice but to learn how to become friends again considering how close Dwalin and my brother are. I wouldn’t worry about it, though,” Frerin continued. “Dwalin has his own feelings to work through but he is an honorable dwarf. He would not hold my sister’s Sanze against him, just as my sister would not hold Dwalin’s feelings against him.”

“You make it sound as though everything will work itself out so cleanly,” Bilbo objected.

“In this case, I think you’ll find that I am completely right. There is nothing to worry about between those two. _You_ on the other hand,” he added, swinging to a stop in front of the distinctly round door to Bilbo’s suites, “need to hurry if you are planning on sneaking some food from the kitchens for your midday meal.”

“Don’t be foolish,” he said, searching his pockets for his key. “I have plenty of time to stop down there now that we’ve ended practice so early. I’ll hardly be late for a quick luncheon even if I take an extra-long soak.”

“Oh, you’ve _forgotten_ , then,” Frerin stated with teasing tone to his voice. Bilbo raised his brows in an expectant expression; he didn’t play these games with Frerin. As usual in their exchange, Frerin just cracked a smile before continuing, “How you’re to help each other with your plaits?”

Bilbo groaned and swung his head back in exasperation. He _had_ forgotten. Frerin almost felt bad for teasing him.

On almost any other day it wouldn’t have been a problem for them. In the beginning, Thorin may not have been overly enthused about Mahal’s choice of his _One_ , but he and Bilbo had long ago learned how to be friends. Most days, they actually got along well enough that no one would doubt they were the other’s sanbah.

It was only on days of formal ceremonies in the mountain, of which there were thankfully few, that Bilbo and Thorin were actually expected to braid each others’ hair. For a normal bond pair, it was common the two would not only help prepare the other’s hair regularly, but would _want_ to do so. Maybe even yearn to; it certainly seemed that way for his sister. It was a dwarven tradition that gave plenty of chances for close touches and proximity to a pair that would supposedly enjoy such things.

Balin, and even Thrór after a time, had given up on enforcing such traditions back before Thorin and Bilbo had learned how to interact with each other, only insisting upon them on the most important of occasions. Even so, these holidays and events caused enough stress on their own that both Bilbo and Thorin tended to have rather shortened fuses before anything else was even added to the mix.

“You’re lucky he doesn’t wear his hair in such an elaborate pattern, that could take you _hours,_ ” Frerin attempted to tease. Bilbo would need all of his patience today. The best way they’d found to deal with Thorin in one of these moods was simply to restrain from engaging him in arguments. _“_ And you know how he’d grump if you were late.”

Bilbo sent him a sour glare as he turned the key in the lock. “I’ll never understand why dwarves choose to spend so much time on their hair. It works just as well to keep it short, and it is so much more practical,” he groused. “Now, go, get ready yourself. You’re slowing me down and I’m apparently in a rush, as you’ve so kindly informed me.”

“Now see, it’s moments like this that reaffirm to me that you two are destined to be together. I’ve never seen a grumpier pair under the age of a hundred and fifty,” he teased.

“Shut _up,_ Frerin!”

Bilbo shut the door, perhaps a bit too firmly, and Frerin let out a huff of breath. No matter how much he would like to pretend that things wouldn’t be so bad between Thorin and Bilbo, he’d seen enough of his brother’s temper that week to assure him otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations made possible by the Dwarrow Scholar  
>    
> Pundurith - Little Cat  
> Raydûna - Princess (female heir)  
> Harâzgund - Cross between an elevator and a dumbwaiter (underground hall of ducts)  
> Sanze - Romantic Soulmate (perfect one)  
> Sanbah - Platonic Soulmate (perfect friend)
> 
> As always, kudos/comments make my heart soar and flit and flutter, leave me some love!


	2. Chapter 2

Bilbo flexed his fingers in a wave of anxious movement, looking at the stack of shirts and trousers laid out on his bedspread. They were new this summer, sewn and tailored by none other than Rudibert Bolger. The fellow might be a tad rough around the edges, but he knew his way around the fabric merchants, and no one could tailor a weskit quite like he could.

Bilbo would greatly prefer to wear one of those crisp new tops, bright and airy fabrics decorated with softly curving flowers and a loose cravat to finish it all off, but this was Dís and Vili’s wedding and… Well, Dís was one of Bilbo’s closest friends here; he hadn’t so much as brushed Bilbo aside because he was not a dwarf, not even when they were children.

Bilbo would do close to anything for her, and wearing an unflattering outfit was certainly not the worst hardship he could be asked to bear.

As he fastened the trousers and tucked in the accompanying tunic, he could feel where the fabric gaped over his chest and shoulders. The pant legs were thankfully hemmed this time, so they would not be bunching where his hairy feet protruded from the ends. Nevertheless, they were still longer than a hobbit would prefer and not cut in the most flattering shape for his frame. These types of garments looked truly lovely on dwarrows, accentuating solid profiles in straight lines and strong contours. But lacking the solid muscle these seams were built for, Bilbo was left with an appearance (he had been informed many times) resembling that of a dwarfling in its parents’ clothes.

Bilbo supposed the outfit did technically fit him. From what he could tell, dwarrows of both genders did tend to prefer layers and fabric in excess, if you were going to ask a hobbit. Had Bilbo been shaped like a dwarf, perhaps with broader shoulders, narrower hips, and a waistline that blended more naturally (no, not _naturally_ , he was not a dwarf) into his frame, the fit would have been perfect.

It couldn’t be helped now though, and it was clear that Balin had done his best for him. The fabric of the jacket he had yet to put on was a rather darker hue than he would prefer, but still an earthy green reminiscent of what he would have chosen to wear himself. It was decorated in characteristically sharp geometric designs, patterns that he was sure were attractive to a dwarven eye. When he looked closely he could pick out spiky interpretations of flowers that decorated the ends of the sleeves and at the neckline, accompanied by a luxuriant fur collar. Surely those had to have been a special request.

Bilbo wriggled one last time, attempting to find a more flattering way for the clothing to hang. Usually the fit of his dwarven garments wasn’t quite so... well, bad, but having only returned to the mountain a day ago, there hadn’t been any time for adjustments to be made. Nothing to be done about it now, in any case.

Bilbo grabbed his foot comb and sat on the edge of the bed. He propped his right foot on the opposite knee and started combing through the thatch of freshly cleaned hair running from his shin to his toes as he eyed the heavy pair of boots still sitting by the door. He’d tried them on the other day, only to find that they were so heavy he could scarcely move his feet without dragging them across the floor, not to mention how uncomfortable and unnatural it felt to have something covering and confining his feet so completely.

There _were_ times when it was necessary for him to wear some sort of covering for his feet, dwarven mountains having a propensity for stray nails and metal shavings being scattered across certain floors. Thankfully he spent little time in areas like the forges or mines, so his regular (and significantly lighter) pair were only very seldom used.

Surely when he was standing in the trousers his feet would hardly be showing. It wasn’t as if he would be taking a prominent place during the ceremony, after all. And he was wearing the garments Balin had commissioned for him. The worst that could happen if he were to forego the shoes would be that he would have to return for them later.

And honestly, a light scolding in exchange for a chance at not wearing those awful things seemed the preferable option by far. Bilbo finished combing his other foot as his stomach growled and he looked across the room for anything else to grab before he left.

Oh, his hair bead! He was sure to be sent back if _that_ was forgotten.

Bilbo made his way over to his mother’s old jewelry box when he had finished combing the other foot and sorted through the sparse collection of jewelry. He had managed to acquire quite a few of the pieces in past years living in the mountain, grand pieces that he wouldn’t dream wearing in the Shire, but perfectly normal, perhaps even _subtle_ as far as adornment in Erebor went, considering the crowd he was surrounded with most times. He sifted through extravagant rings and necklaces and arm cuffs that he perhaps would have worn were the weather warmer, and a bracelet Frerin had given him one year during the Winter Solstice that he would likely never wear, unfortunately, metal tinkling and jewels flashing in the bright light of the midday sun. As he fished out the bead, he paused and rubbed his thumb over the inlaid sapphire in a reluctant fondness.

It was a bead lovingly forged but grudgingly given by Thorin upon the recognition of his One. It had obviously been made when Thorin was quite young, but Bilbo could not deny that it was also quite beautiful.

They’d had to arrange some modifications early on; the bead hadn’t been made with the intention of being used on hobbit hair, so much more thin and slippery than that of a dwarf, but it was nonetheless another facet of dwarven formalwear, an absolute must for an event as important as the Raydûna’s wedding.

Bilbo tucked the bead into his palm and plucked out his favorite ear cuff along with the bracelet from Frerin. He thought it was a tad showy but would likely go unnoticed by the other dwarves, and it really would be a shame if he were to never wear it. He took a fortifying breath and shut the box.

Jewelry in hand, Bilbo rushed out the door, taken now by nerves and worry.

 

. o O o .

 

“Bilbo!” Frerin greeted as he made his way into the joined sitting room, “You look…” Bilbo felt Frerin's eyes move across the poorly-fitting garb before giving up, eyebrows bunching in sympathy, “Balin wouldn’t let you wear your own clothes, would he?” he asked in a lowered tone.

“No, he wouldn't,” Bilbo responded, dumping the pile of jewelry on the side table next to him. Frerin must look exceedingly handsome from what he could tell, the braids running across the back of his head in an interconnecting net over the rest of his dark brown hair. He had never been able to pin down precisely what made a dwarf particularly handsome or beautiful, but he had picked up the broad strokes of the matter. A solid frame and strong limbs, a full beard and braids to show status and flair.

Bilbo had gathered at various points that the Durin siblings were not considered the most handsome group of dwarves to grace Erebor, largely because of features that would be more at home on the face of a man than that of a dwarf, the sharp Durin nose in particular. Bilbo, however, thought each of the siblings striking in their own way, but he was only just a hobbit. It wasn’t as though his opinion carried much weight in a mountain full of dwarves.

“Well Balin is in Thorin’s room with him,” Frerin murmured, bobbing his head in their direction with an anxious expression, eyes wide and lips settling between his teeth.

Bilbo sighed. “What’s he done now?”

“Nothing unusual, he’s just skipped his lessons again yesterday.”

“And what exactly is it that you want me to do with this information?”

“I- Come on, Bilbo,” Frerin coaxed quietly with not a small amount of annoyance. “You two always manage to cover for each other, and Thorin’s already managed to work himself up into a froth today.” Bilbo shook his head and turned to seek out something to munch on (there had to be something in here) so Frerin rushed to add, “And Dwalin won’t be here for another hour at least. You can’t leave Thorin to deal with Balin on his own for that long.”

Bilbo wrinkled his nose at the prospect, “Well I’m not feeling all that charitable today-“

“You already saved Thorin from all that teasing during practice this morning-“

“And so I already used up all my charity for the day,” Bilbo whispered back. “Plus, we already established that was for my own benefit, not his. I daresay he doesn’t deserve my help considering the fuss he put up about not wanting to accompany me today.”

"Oh-" Frerin grumbled before throwing his head back. Let it never be said there was a Durin without a love for the dramatic. “Please, Bilbo, you know how Thorin gets. I know you could manage to save him the tantrum today,” Frerin pleaded. “If not for Thorin then for yourself? Perhaps the plaiting will go easier.”

“You know that won’t happen just as well as I do. His mood isn’t going to break until everyone’s eyes are off him and he’s able to slink away and realize how horrible he’s been for the past week. Then he’ll give me one of his completely _ridiculous_ apologies-”

“Not that you don’t deserve them.”

“Not that I don’t deserve them,” Bilbo agreed. “But you know that’s how Thorin works. Nothing I do today is going to change that.”

Frerin let out a defeated groan, “Fine, leave Thorin to Balin’s ire if you must. But you’ll be leaving me with a temper as well, having to deal with him for the rest of the day.”

Bilbo snorted at that, “I’ve nothing to fear from your temper, Frerin, it’s there and gone faster than a jackrabbit.”

But perhaps he was being selfish in making everyone else deal with a moody Thorin on such an important day? Well, no, that was nonsense. Thorin’s temper was not even remotely his responsibility.

It was true enough that he had grown quite thick-skinned when it came to dealing with Thorin though, a childhood of cruel comments and condemnations left unfiltered because of his youth. But the others weren’t so used to being able to enjoy their days with their brother in such a foul mood. Would it really be selfish for him to make everyone else deal with this as well when he had even just a chance of making things better? Probably. That didn’t mean he had to be happy about being the only person willing to try and kick Thorin out of his strop though.

“Fine, I’ll help-“

“Oh, I knew you would, you always do-“

“But you are coming with me,” Bilbo cut in.

“Must I really?” Frerin asked with a grimace. “I had hoped you'd be able to manage it yourself. I still need to get myself ready-“

“ _Yes_ , you must really,” Bilbo hissed. “And you'll owe me, Frerin!”

“Fine, fine,” Frerin finally agreed. “And when have I ever not come through for you? You know I look after you always,” Frerin grinned. “Now go. Hurry, he’s been in there with Balin for nearly half an hour-“

“Half an hour? Over a missed lesson?” Bilbo asked. Surely Balin couldn’t have been scolding Thorin over only that for so long.

Bilbo watched Frerin’s eyes as they tightened near the corners and danced over everything but Bilbo’s face. He and his brother were such terrible liars.

“Perhaps there were other things they’ve had disagreements about,” he admitted.

Bilbo rolled his head to the side in exasperation and swiped his thumb against his jawline. So Balin had been trying to strong-arm Thorin into accompanying him again. Wonderful.

“But I’m positive Thorin would appreciate your help,” Frerin rushed to add.

“Alright, alright, don’t get your beard in a knot. You go ahead, I’ll be in in a few minutes.” This wasn’t Bilbo’s favorite thing to deal with by far, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t practiced in doing so.

Frerin was still calling after him, but Bilbo left him to join Thorin and finish getting himself ready with a dismissive wave of his hand and plopped himself down in one of the sitting chairs.


	3. Chapter 3

“You’re second in line for the throne, Thorin. You can’t forgo your grandfather’s instructions whenever you feel the need,” Balin chastised, “ _especially_ if you won’t give me a reason.”

Thorin sent a glare toward Frerin as he returned to their room, but Thorin was willing to let him slip by if that meant that Balin would be gone sooner. He had other things to worry about instead of hashing through _this_ again.

“You do realize that I am held responsible for your education?” Balin continued in thinly veiled annoyance. “Responsible for preparing you for the throne should something happen to the king, Mahal tikhuzh-“

“Sullu iglukhul ya bark ra targ,” Thorin groused back. “And my father is still young. You do a disservice saying such things.” Balin shook his head and turned away with a huff.

Balin had been waiting for him in their sitting room when Thorin had arrived back from sparring with Dáin, and had barely allowed Thorin to wash himself before starting on his reprimanding. Why couldn't this have waited waited until tomorrow? It wasn't as if any of this was urgent.

What it was was a tired, old argument they'd rehashed every couple weeks since Thorin had started taking on official responsibilities as Rayadu Uzbad.

Balin kept refusing to instruct him on  _important_ topics, and kept instead to a rigid curriculum of his own making.  If something _were_ to happen to their father or grandfather? He would be completely unprepared. Lessons on strategy or settling disputes or leading a successful campaign should the mountain be attacked were seemingly not on the table for the foreseeable future. “Your lessons have been over nothing but grain reserves and plumbing repairs as of late. They waste my time.”

“Those grain reserves and ‘plumbing repairs’ are _incredibly_ relevant to you Thorin. What are you going to do when you're king and there is not enough food to feed your people?”

Thorin turned his head and ground his teeth. “I am no Khâbuznâlh-“

“And the Shalakmazâr?” Balin continued, “The entire west half of the mountain will need replacements before the decade is out. How can a king discuss plans for renovations without being fluent in the problems his architect is supposed to be fixing?”

“Such things shouldn’t be taking up my time, much less my grandfather’s; it makes little sense for me to be there if that is all I'll be concerning myself with. And I am not even _Melhekhaz Rayad_ ; I shouldn’t be wasting my time with such trivial matters.”

“But you are still Rayad after your father, Thorin. It is not as if I crafted your regimen unaided. There is a reason you are being taught such things, and if you cannot trust me then surely you should hold trust in your grandfather,” Balin ended with a huff. Thorin watched Balin let out a long sigh, finger and thumb crossing his brow to grab at his temples. Of course this was somehow Thorin's fault.

Soon after, Balin continued in a softer tone, “If you would just tell me where you were-“ Balin cut himself off at someone clearing their throat near the door.

“ _Master Baggins_ ,” he greeted with a tired smile. “Welcome back to the Mountain.”

Thorin let out a quiet groan. The others had told him it was inexcusably rude to do so upon the arrival of unwanted company, but not even Bilbo had ever managed to break him of the habit. It had gotten the kingdom in plenty of trouble in the past, and for all that Thorin was close to completely tactless, their grandfather still insisted on having him attend meetings with other diplomats. It boggled the mind that they wouldn't just let Frerin go to those meetings instead. 

“I was just on a missive from Uzbad Thrór, then I can leave you and Thorin to finish getting ready,” Balin concluded with a resolute smile.

“Well,” Bilbo started, “I can solve that issue for you myself, Master Balin. I couldn’t help but overhear-”

Thorin tensed and his head shot out of his hands to look at Bilbo. How long had the hobbit been there? No, no, he hadn't been there that long.

Bilbo’s face remained carefully pleasant though, so much that even if he hadn't heard, he probably had an idea of what had been said. 

“Thorin made up part of the welcoming party for our return from the West yesterday,” Bilbo told Balin. “I hope you’ll forgive him this once, it did mean quite a lot that he came to greet me.”

Balin’s face softened almost immediately, but it was, of course, a lie. What was Bilbo playing at? Thorin hadn't been there to greet Bilbo. Dís had been the only one to actually greet Bilbo and the rest of the traveling party upon their return. Frerin had run late and Thorin had spent the day hunting with Dáin and Glóin and Dwalin. 

When Thorin looked over, Balin’s face had already lit up in response to Bilbo’s fib, and was now gracing Thorin with a rare expression of soft approval.

The expression wasn't even remotely flattering on him.

“Well why didn’t you say so, Thorin? If I had known…” and Balin just _paused,_ not seeming to take any notice of Thorin’s rapidly plummeting mood. “Thorin, of course you would have been allowed to go greet Master Baggins, you only had but to ask.”

Thorin glared at Bilbo. He'd only been back a day and he'd somehow managed to undo all of Thorin's work. Thorin had _just_ managed to convince Balin to at least a reasonable degree that he and Bilbo were not to wed, a feat he had been especially proud of considering the nature of the day’s activities. 

Thorin ignored them as best he could while Balin and Bilbo continued exchanging pleasantries, ignoring the warning glare Frerin was sending his way.

When Balin finally shut the door behind them, the resounding silence they were left with wasn't any better. Instead of turning his attention to Bilbo, Thorin shuffled the papers on his desk into something resembling a tidy pile, and studiously avoided engaging either one of them.

“Oh, you don’t need to clean up for me, leave your things,” Bilbo said, trying to grab Thorin’s wrist and pull it away from the papers.

Thorin wrenched his hand back out of Bilbo’s hold and kept his gaze fixed down toward the papers on his desk. He wasn't ready to deal with this yet.

Bilbo retracted his hands and took a step back. “So you’ve already got yourself in a mood,” he sighed.

Thorin clenched his teeth and continued stalling for time to calm himself down. Bilbo seemed to be waiting for him to finish, but realized that the action was more to use time than to accomplish anything specific.

“I… Well. Never mind, take your time then." Bilbo settled on. Thorin hefted a sigh and squeezed his eyes shut. He needed to remember that Bilbo hadn't meant to mess things up, likely had no idea that he even had. Thorin kept watch on Bilbo's toes peeking out from dark fabric (what _had_  Dís been thinking?), discomfort already evident in restless fingers and feet. 

Bilbo cleared his throat and Thorin looked back up at him to find an obstinate expression even if Bilbo seemed to be avoiding eye contact now. “We can just get the braids done and I’ll be out of your way then, how does that sound?”

“Fine,” Thorin replied, waving his hand at one of the other chairs near his desk while he stood up to grab his tunic he would be wearing for the ceremony. All he had to do was get through today, and then things would be easier. He could manage today. “But don’t look.”

“Yes, yes, alright. I’ll sit here until you’re ready, I won’t peek.”

Thorin heard Bilbo let down the handful of jewelry he’d been carrying with a clatter as he avoided looking in Frerin's direction. For all that Thorin knew his brother looked out for him in most situations, the on exception always seemed to be with Bilbo. Thorin moved to position himself so that he was right behind the chair Bilbo was sitting in before stripping off his shirt.

He didn't really expect Bilbo to try and steal a glance at him, not anymore, but they were old habits and hard to kill. Thorin turned as he slid his arm through the first sleeve and was gratified despite himself to find that Bilbo was busying himself with fastening an ear cuff, gaze pointedly avoiding the space Thorin was occupying.

 _Thorin,_ Frerin mouthed at him, but he just turned the other way.

Thorin took another glance back before exchanging his trousers to see that Bilbo was contemplating a bracelet around too-long sleeves.

In the days when Thorin _had_ caught lingering gazes coming from Bilbo, it had set his skin to crawling. It wasn't because he found Bilbo displeasing, or even that he was a hobbit. It was no different than when he caught lingering gazes from a dwarf, a sentiment he'd heard echoed in the words of many whose calling was in the stone instead of a _One._

“Ready then? Should we start with your hair?” Bilbo asked him.

“Yes, let’s get on with it,” he replied. Thorin took down his hair from the mop he'd tied it up in after washing and combed his fingers through it, separating two sections behind his ears. He wore these plaits smaller than his siblings, Dís and Frerin wearing braids that would be far too large for hobbit hands to handle. 

“Alright then, I’ll get started, shall I?” Bilbo took hold of his hair and separated the pieces of hair into three disastrously uneven groups. He would fix it, surely, Bilbo wouldn't possibly-

“Give me that,” Thorin demanded almost immediately. Thorin took the hair into his own hands, separating the strands into three perfectly equal parts. “Here,” he said, and carefully handed the strands back. The braids would get finished and then he would have time to... To what exactly? He didn't even have to do anything today.

“Sorry,” Bilbo intoned, a touch more menace in his voice.

It would be fine. He just needed to sit through this and then get to the ceremony. To Dís' ceremony. Where she would be married, and people would be thinking about how  _he_ -

“It’s been quite some time since I’ve braided someone’s hair,” Bilbo added. “Not exactly the most skilled in this, I know, but I’ll do my best not to muss up your appearance. I know you’ll be wanting to look your best today,” he added with a strained smile. Bilbo began folding the pieces of hair over each other, perhaps not quite as tight as Thorin usually preferred, but he would let it go in favor of not interrupting the distracting tug against his scalp.

It was silent for a few moments before Bilbo began chattering again, and Frerin chimed in now and again while Thorin kept his eyes closed. Bilbo talked at length about his first summer of official court duty, fulfilling his appointment in trade negotiations with the Shire, and it was good to be able to listen to the words. Thorin remembered Bilbo being skeptical about getting hobbits to leave the Shire to come to the mountain, and it seemed that Bilbo had been correct. From what he said, the caravan had come back with plenty of crops and items in trade, but with less than they had hoped for in new workers. 

Bilbo reached the end of the first braid and held out his hand, into which Thorin placed the first bead. When he looked, Thorin couldn’t say it was his best work; there were loops of stray hair poking out between the folds of hair and it wasn’t particularly straight, but perhaps he would just re-do it once Bilbo was gone.

Thorin parted the hair on the other side of his head and listened as the chair was dragged to his other side and the stories continued, this time about how Bilbo had managed to wrangle a particular family recipe from his Aunt Belba.

This was something the two of them did fairly often when they were in the mountain at the same time, Bilbo talking about whatever came across his mind and Thorin simply listening, although usually in a much better disposition. It worked for them, Thorin preferring to observe much of the time, and Bilbo indulging in his love of chatting.

“This will be my second wedding of the season. You remember Primula? The hobbit my cousin Drogo was courting?”

Thorin made a non-committal noise and closed his eyes. There was no way that Thorin didn’t remember Drogo at all with how many times he'd been brought up, although it was true he couldn't recall many details. 

“Yes, well. They got married this summer while I was in the Shire. They told me they had been planning on having an Autumn wedding; those are quite common for hobbits, they um,” Thorin looked up from where he'd started combing out the rest of his hair to see why Bilbo had stopped.

Bilbo was still looking at the braid, about a third of the it finished by this point, and was taking turns shaking each of his hands to gain better access through his sleeves. It was ridiculous that Dís had been so adamant that Bilbo attend in dwarven garb. He understood that he meant it as an inclusion for him, and really, Thorin supposed it was an honor that Dís had asked him to share in their ceremonies. But that didn’t change the fact that Bilbo didn’t like them.

Once his sleeves were shaken back enough to allow Bilbo to use his hands again, he started back on the braid and his story. “Hobbits back in the Shire often have their weddings in the fall. Plenty of food, of course. And the Party Tree, that’s probably the best part,” he added with a muted smile. “Its leaves have changed into bright reds and oranges by wedding season if I remember rightly. It’s quite traditional, having them alongside the big harvests. Reflects a bountiful marriage in love and health and children.”

The fall leaves _would_ be beautiful that time of year, and if it would make Bilbo happy-But no. They were not going to be married, that was more than Thorin was willing to give.

Bilbo paused again and Thorin could feel only the wisp of fingers tugging at his hair before he heard Bilbo tut and felt all of the progress he’d made unravel, anxiety flooding from his chest to his arms to his trembling fingers. _He didn't have time for this._

“Thorin,” Frerin warned. Thorin looked up and did nothing but glare.

Bilbo either took no note of their exchange, or more likely, simply didn’t care. “I can’t remember the last time I was able to attend a fall wedding. Drogo and Prim moved their wedding up so I could attend- Drat!” he snapped.

Thorin kept his eyes trained on Frerin donning his overcoat, but there was no ignoring the rapidly unravelling bunch of hair in his peripheral.

Bilbo rushed to salvage the braid, clamping down on the loose hair before starting again on the braid as if nothing had happened. Frerin watched with a wince as the pieces of hair were bunched and wound around each other in uneven patterns, waiting for Bilbo to realize that the braid wouldn’t fix itself. Thorin was scowling up at Bilbo, waiting for the same thing. He _had_ to realize that the braid needed to be redone.

Bilbo got to the point where the braid returned to its normal pattern, but there was still a large kink in it, the mistake completely obvious to them, although Bilbo didn’t seem to find a problem with it.

“Stop,” Thorin finally told Bilbo, “this needs to be redone.”

“Oh, no, no, I think this looks well enough. Hardly a dent in the braid at all, no one will notice-“

“Yes they will,” he interrupted, “this _needs_ to be redone.” Thorin took hold of the braid and pried Bilbo’s fingers away from the strands.

“Thorin, no! Stop it!”

Thorin got one of Bilbo’s hands off the braid, his own hand still grasping it clumsily, but in a sure enough grip that even Bilbo would have to let it go now. “Just let go, I won’t make you do the plait again.”

“I - _Thorin_ , the plait was just fine before. We’re going to be here ages if you won’t accept anything but a perfect braid,” Bilbo argued.

Thorin couldn’t pry the Bilbo’s fingers off what remained of the braid while he was still grappling with Bilbo’s other hand, but he _was_ able to grasp the entirety of it in his own and force it to slide down and off his hair. 

“Thorin! That braid was perfectly fine! Now I’m going to have to take time I _don’t_ have to do it over again-“

“I said that I would do it this time, go on and do what you need-“

“People will be able to tell if you do the plait, Thorin, especially when the one I did is on the other side of your face,” he argued. 

Bilbo started combing the hair with his fingers again, movements tugging against Thorin’s scalp as he separated the hair into the three pieces, just as uneven as they had been the first time. Thorin went to separate them again, but Bilbo swung his elbow around, not far enough to hit him, but close enough to communicate that he would be in pain if Bilbo had to let go of the strands again.

“Nobody will care if you don’t do the braid," Thorin ground out. "And I cannot attend a formal ceremony, much less the _Raydûna shahan_ , with such unkempt hair. The kingdom will be watching-“

“The kingdom will be watching Dís and Frerin. They won’t give two _figs_ what you’re doing up there today-“

“No, they won’t be watching _you_ ,” Thorin exploded. He stood up from the chair, wrenching his hair out of Bilbo’s grip. “I’m the second Rayadu Uzbad; I am _always_ being watched.” Thorin walked over to polished silver mirror and started pulling the remainder of the braid out. “It may not matter if you attend a ceremony dressed like some misshapen dwarfling playing his father’s robes, but I must look _respectable!_ ”

Thorin unclasped the bead holding the other braid and wrenched the folded hair apart.

 _They'll all be watching-They'll all be thinking it-They'll all be wondering when-_ “ _Ukhzul_ ,” Frerin admonished. “Thorin—“

Regret came over him as soon as his brother's words cut through the mantra running through his head. Thorin turned to apologize, but... Of course Bilbo had already left. Why would he choose to stay when being treated like this?

Of course he'd left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> **Copious amount of translations made possible by the Dwarrow Scholar**  
>  Mahal tikhuzh - Mahal forbid  
> Sullu iglukhul ya bark ra targ - All is well with axe and beard (idiom meaning 'all is well')  
> Rayadu Uzbad - In line for the throne but not necessarily _next_ in line (heir of the king)  
>  Khâbuznâlh - people who grow food for a living (gardener people) *Should be read with an unhealthy amount of dwarven disdain  
> Shalakmazâr - Aqueduct system of Erebor (literally: The Waterworks)  
> Melhekhaz Rayad - Next in line for the throne  
> Ukhzul - Hold on
> 
> Little delayed since I ended up rewriting the entire chapter. While it's still not perfect it is miles closer now to how it plays out in my head. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who left such incredibly encouraging comments on the last couple of chapters, I can't put into words how amazingly happy they made me. Okay, done. No more stuff from me for now, go back to your stuff (or ya know, leave a kudos or comment or three, whatever).


	4. Chapter 4

Bilbo left Thorin and Frerin’s rooms and let out a harsh breath. That could certainly have gone better.

He took a few moments to gather himself, but only a few. No matter how his day was going, it didn't change the fact that he was in a hurry and today was Dís' wedding. Soon enough the day would be done and he could be as angry with Thorin as he wanted (and that was certainly all he was going to be feeling, his feelings weren't hurt, no they were not). Things would be back to normal between him and Thorin soon enough, but for now it was still Dís' wedding, and she deserved more than a moping hobbit on her doorstep.

He turned his back with a sniff of his nose and grumble in his belly, and marched on toward Dís’ new quarters. There was an additional guard posted outside the door, but they didn’t make any move to intercept him, so Bilbo knocked on the door.

“Imdin!” she called from inside.

Bilbo pressed down on the heavy iron handle of the door and walked inside. He could see that many of Dís’ belongings had been moved from her old rooms; a dresser, rug, and a pair of swords far too small for her to use anymore, all moved along with Víli's things in preparation of the new life they would share.

“Bilbo!” Dís cried from the other side of the room, and Bilbo couldn’t help but smile in response to the beaming expression he was being treated to. “Tell me, are you as excited as I am?” she asked as she swept him up into a crushing hug.

“Well I should certainly hope not!” he responded with a laugh.

“Now don’t say that,” she said, holding him now at arms length with a poor copy of a scowl. But soon enough the full smile was back on her face, “Just wait unil it’s your turn to be married: Then you’ll be plenty excited. But I’m sure I’m excited enough for the both of us today- Bilbo, I get to _marry Víli_ today!”

“I have _heard_!” Bilbo added with a chuckle and a shake of his head.

“Oh, you make fun of me now-“

“I most certainly am _not_ -“ he objected, raising his brows.

“Well you _seem_ in a good enough mood,” she concluded with a wag of her head. “I take it things went well enough with Thorin?”

“You think yourself funny don’t you," he accused, smile faltering. "You know perfectly well that they didn’t.” 

“Well what has he done now?” Dís asked. There was certainly remorse for her brother’s actions there, but it was far overshadowed by annoyance. Out of anyone in the mountain, save perhaps Dwalin, she allowed Thorin to get away with the very least. "I  _knew_ he would get himself in one of his moods today, and I won't have it-"

“No, no," Bilbo interrupted. The last thing any of them needed right now was Thorin being forced into an apology he didn't mean. "Don’t you worry about that, Frerin's got him. Now what can I help you with?”

Dis side-eyed him and shook her head. “You may help me with my robes,” she allowed. “But I _will_ be finding out what my brother’s done to upset you on my  shahan nurt. I specifically told him not to do that,” she added with an annoyed grimace. “We’ve only just gotten you back, I wouldn’t have you thinking we didn’t miss you. And once I find out, then we’ll do something about that braid you’re missing.”

Bilbo felt a jolt run through his arms- the bead! He’d left it in Thorin and Frerin’s room. He felt his face fall as he realized he would have to go back to at least retrieve it. Nothing for it now, he supposed. He busied himself with helping Dís navigate the gown as she stepped into his dress and put her arms through the sleeves.

“So tell me what the Raydûna has done today,” he asked instead. Anything had to be better than letting that fight run another circuit through his head.

Dís snorted. “I doubt you want to hear about most of my morning’s activities, sensitive thing that you are.”

Bilbo gave the back of Dís' head an unamused look. Hobbits may not be quite as frank when it came to discussions of things a pair did behind closed doors, but even Dís would hardly go into a description of _that_ with someone, no matter if they were hobbit or dwarf.

“So you spent a busy morning with Víli, then?” he prodded.

“Yes, I did,” she said sweetly, smile creeping back on her face. She put her hands at her waist, pushing the sides of the dress back and leaving Bilbo to fasten the buttons running along her spine. “Bilbo, he’s so sweet to me.”

“Yes, I know,” he replied between fastening buttons, his own smile coming back as well if perhaps not quite as bright. “He is.”

It was still somewhat strange to see Dís like this. She had been a strong personality ever since they were children, and there was no doubt that she still was, but Víli certainly had an effect on her. Ever since they had started courting, and perhaps even before that, Víli had left Dís in a softer disposition for his presence.

Thorin found it disconcerting, such a change in his sister because of a dwarf she could hardly know, but she was so clearly in love. It settled something in Bilbo’s chest as well to see her so happy.

“Nâm, I forgot!” she exclaimed, wrenching herself and the dress out of Bilbo’s grasp, heedless of the half-open back of her gown. Bilbo stood with his hands stretched in front of him a moment before he gave a short shake of his head and looked to see what had distracted her.

Dís walked over to a small table with an object under a napkin -and he _shouldn’t_ hope- before turning to face him. “Now you must tell me that you love me for this, for I am such a thoughtful  nan’ul.” She whipped the cloth off the table with a wide grin to reveal...  _yes!_  

It was a plate of breakfast pastries -Víli’s favorite if he remembered correctly. “Leftovers from our breakfast this morning. I figured you would be busy today and that my brother would mess things up, if I’m honest. Am I right in thinking you haven’t eaten all your morning meals yet?”

Bilbo grinned up at the floor for a moment before returning his gaze to her. “You’re too kind to me, Dís, truly you are.” He didn’t hesitate in advancing to take one, however. Over-kind or not, he was _hungry._

He took hold of his first pastry and sank his teeth in, egg and sausage and cheese combining to make a dish that he would not particularly crave on a normal day, too distinctly dwarven in its overpowering tastes and lack of greens.

But today- today it tasted _heavenly_ , and he groaned in appreciation. Dís laughed at him and he smiled back, only barely embarrassed at the sight he must make. His father would be so disappointed in his table manners. “Thank you, Dís. You’ve saved me from a hungry belly.”

“We couldn't have _that_.”

There was another knock at the door to which Dís called _Imdin_ , but before she could even finish, the door was already opening to reveal Frerin.

“Mi targê, nanu!” Frerin called. He rushed over to embrace his sister. “You look beautiful. _Ravishing_ , even!" Bilbo laughed as he watched Frerin fawn over his sister, and then wince as he cracked their skulls together. Things with Thorin must have been taken care of then. "Never have I seen such a beautiful dwarf in all my life!” Frerin grabbed his around the waist to whirl her across the floor. “What a pity that you were born my sister, and pledged away to another!”

Dís whipped back her head and cackled but returned the hug, pressing a kiss to her brother’s forehead, “ _Kalabâl. _ And what beard of yours, brother? Such a whispy thing you still have,” she teased.

“On any other day," Frerin groused with a playful smile. "Well I still have more than you do. Let’s get this dress finished. Thorin will be here in a few minutes to wish you well, but I told him to cool his temper before he gets here. Can’t have him in such a mood today, can we?”

Frerin smiled over at Bilbo and then took up buttoning the back of Dís’ dress where he had left off, and Bilbo sat himself down at the table with the rest of the pastries, content to take his fill while he had a moment’s rest.

“Jalai’gil,” Dís murmured to Frerin. Bilbo didn’t mind so much that Dís was asking what had happened, but he felt his expression drop nevertheless. He didn’t know why they insisted on using Khuzdul when they wanted to keep him out of the loop. Even if his vocabulary and comprehension were less than perfect, he was usually able to puzzle out what they meant by situation if nothing else.

“Bunuh muthug,” he replied. Frerin looked over to make sure Bilbo wasn’t paying attention, and Bilbo was more than happy to play along with the ruse; he certainly didn’t need them knowing he understood them while Frerin recounted what Thorin thought of him. “Hu kharama id-hû azdâdul khazdith,” was all that Frerin ended up saying, and it was enough. Bilbo sank his teeth into his third pastry, the taste settling down on the back of the tongue as he swallowed.

Bilbo could hear Dís release her breath through her nose and could imagine the expression on her face.

“Shurufmi hû tabi, ma ikhshim khidu,” Frerin added. “Ganarmi zirik galabî _._ ”

“Akhmini mê,” Dís replied, grasping his wrist as she passed.

“Now,” she continued in a louder voice. “Bilbo, I have a favor to ask of you. You’ll have to finish your eating and clean your hands, it’s to do with my hair.”

Her hair? “This is to do with what happened with Thorin, isn’t it? Well I don’t want any special treatment because of that-“

“I’ve no idea what happened over there,” she interrupted. “I only know that my brother was rude to you. But I’ve been planning on asking you for a few weeks now,” she continued.

“You should really have someone else do it. What about your brothers? Or your cousins? You hardly see them and I’m sure they would appreciate being asked-“

“Yes, I’m sure they would, but really, who better could ask than the Gantu Rayad-“

“Dís _-”_

“I am Thorin’s Sanbâh, you know _full_ _well_ -”

“And of course I am only offering so that I will be offered the privilege whenever the two of you finally get on with it-”

“ _Dís!_ That’s _enough_!” Frerin interrupted.

“You are so oversensitive, nadad. It’s not as though they won’t end up together eventually.”

“That’s not the point-”

“Well I didn’t _mean_ to offend,” she concluded with a gusty sigh. She turned to Bilbo and continued in a softer tone, “and I would still ask you even if you weren’t my brother’s  Sanze, which you _are_. You are a great friend of mine, everything else aside, and you should know that already.”

Bilbo turned his face away and felt his eyes start to sting with a strange mix of emotions Dís had a special talent for evoking. He never _had_ quite gotten that time to let his emotions cool. “Well, I suppose if you’ve been wanting to ask all summer, it would be quite rude of me to refuse now, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes it _would_ ,” Dís teased with a light smirk. “But I still want that offer when the time comes!” she rushed to add, and Frerin looked as though he were a moment away from strangling his sister. “Now all I’ll need you to do is put one of these clasps in my hair where Víli will braid it,” she instructed, holding out a wide palm in which four plain, round clasps were resting. “Very simple.”

This was the first dwarven wedding he’d been invited to attend, but from his understanding, the bride and groom would have the section of hair that would hold their marriage braids bound with the beads, and during the ceremony they would remove the clasps to braid the hair and place their own beads that each had crafted for the other. It would indeed be very simple for Bilbo to do this.

He took the napkin that had been sitting atop the pastries and wiped his mouth and fingers as he made his way over to Dís. “Alright, so tell me specifically how you want this done.”

“ _‘_ Aim,” she agreed. Dís already had braids that hung off her beard, four tiny little things, and the two plaits just behind the ears all the Durins wore, but the rest of her hair remained undone. She took a section of hair on the left side of her face and passed it into Bilbo’s waiting fingers. “I’ll just need you to attach the first clasp. A few of your finger widths from the top should do.”

“Can I do the next one?” Frerin asked.

Bilbo smoothed the hair and looked over at where Frerin was watching them.

“You don’t want the _last_ one?” he asked from his seat.

“Oh no,” Frerin replied, “ _‘_ adad should do the last one.”

Bilbo plucked one of the clasps from Dís’ waiting hand and fitted it onto her hair, a short distance down from her scalp. This, it seemed, he could manage perfectly well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **  
> **  
> Translations made possible by the Dwarrow Scholar (and readers like you)  
>  Imdin - Enter  
> Nâm - Ah (Exclamation of understanding)  
> Nan'ul - Sister-in-Law (sister-like/sisterly)  
> Mi targê, nanu! - By my beard, sister!  
> Kalabâl - Charmer  
> Jalai’gil - Tell me (what happened)  
> Bunuh muthug - His usual insults  
> Hu kharama id-hû azdâdul khazdith - He called him an ugly dwarfling  
> Shurufmi hû tabi, ma ikhshim khidu - I already told him off, you don't need to worry about it  
> Ganarmi zirik galabî - I had sharp words with him  
> Akhmini mê - Thank you  
> Gantu Rayad - Consort (promise of the heir)  
> Nadad - Brother  
> Sanbâh - Platonic soulmate (perfect friend)  
> Sanze - Romantic soulmate (perfect one)  
> 'Aim - mhm (noise of agreement)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya guys, request regarding comments: I've gotten a ton of really wonderful comments and I appreciate the time you took to write them SO MUCH (who doesn't love comments?)
> 
> ... But in the future if we could avoid comments about what you are hoping or _not_ hoping to see in future chapters , that would be really helpful for me. I'm new to writing and posting and have always had a very strong tendency toward being a people-pleaser to my own detriment. I know these comments are coming from wonderful places and aren't condemnatory in any way (and a lot of times they are about things that I already have written into the story so why worry) but my brain still tells me people will be angry if I don't address it in a certain way or change what I already have written. It makes me super anxious. 
> 
> I feel like a shitty person asking for comments and then saying 'oh wait never mind, don't send me this kind' but I hope you guys understand and won't take offense at all. Again, I am SO thankful for the comments people have left, they make me feel validated and like my work is appreciated. Feel free to leave a comment if you have a question or you really liked something. Love you guys, and thanks so much for the support so far ♥

It hadn’t been much longer before Thorin had calmed down enough to rejoin them even if he wasn’t yet ready to talk to anyone. When Thorin had seen that Frerin and Dís had already finished off Bilbo’s braids, he’d looked shamefaced in a way that wasn’t precisely _satisfying_ for Frerin to see, not when he could see remorse and embarrassment written so plainly on his brother's face. 

 _I can’t stop myself_ , Thorin had tried to tell him before he’d left, as if Thorin’s own temper wasn’t under his own control. It had been years of this cycle, punctuated with the same fits and outbursts which they had learned to predict by now. He was tired of dealing with them, tired of being put in a foul mood himself when there was  enough to deal with already and other things beside that they should be celebrating.

The remainder of the day went without any further hitches though. They’d helped Dís with the rest of her preparations. Thorin, Frerin, and their Adad had each set one of the remaining beads in Dís’ hair and they had lit incense, sending prayers to Mahal once Víli and his family had returned to the royal wing. When the eleventh hour came, they bid the two farewell until the ceremony itself.

Bilbo, Víli’s family, and those in the line of Durin made their way to the Gabshel-dum. It was a large hall situated in the very center of the mountain. Frerin and his siblings were very familiar with it, they'd been here often enough, as any in the line of Durin was, for ceremonies and weddings and anything ranking of high enough importance. He wasn’t sure that Víli’s family had ever been within its walls, although their wide eyes glued high above any dwarfs suggested that they hadn’t.

He couldn’t blame them for staring. The hall’s rough-hewn walls stretched several floors high, and were filled with raw shards of more gems than Frerin could name as well as countless flecks of what he was nearly certain were indicative of an un-mined vein of mithril. Frerin himself found it difficult to look away.

There were angular support columns of a marbled green stone interspersed throughout the room, one of the only instances of geometric design that Frerin could see, the rest left as it was to showcase the gifts Mahal had provided for his children. The room was lit by hidden mirrors reflecting the diminishing sunlight, casting the hall in warm golds and reds that would fade to greens and blues as twilight approached. The air was more fresh than most of the rooms this deep in the mountain, carrying the warm scent of first rain. Beneath the low echoing sound of those waiting alongside them, he could also hear the sound of softly flowing water, although it was difficult to say where it came from due to the vastness of the open space.

“It seems quite an impressive room,” Bilbo posited once they were seated.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Frerin asked.

Bilbo huffed a smile. “I suppose it is,” he allowed.

They sat behind the dais where the Ushhan would conduct the ceremony. They were situated in their usual locations, Bilbo to Thorin’s right with Frerin on Bilbo’s other side.It felt strange not to have Dís sitting next to him, made him feel the slightest bit jittery. Although Thorin had calmed himself considerably since that morning, Frerin and Bilbo kept to their usual arrangement of talking to each other over the thick stone armrests that sat between them.

When he looked over past Bilbo, he shouldn’t have been surprised to see his brother misty eyed already, but Thorin had always worn his emotions on his sleeve when they ran high enough. Frerin didn't understand it, didn't know if he ever _could_ without knowing what it was to have a  _One_. When Bilbo looked over, he gave Thorin’s hand a soft pat before returning to their conversation, not in forgiveness, not yet Frerin thought, but in support all the same. 

Shortly before the beginning of the twelfth hour, a hush overcame the crowd of onlookers, and their attention was shifted onto the raised platform in the middle of the room. Dís and Frerin walked to the center of the cleared space, hands clutched to each other and insuppressible, glowing smiles cracked across their faces. Frerin found himself overjoyed and nostalgic at once as he listened to the opening words.

The entirety of the ceremony was conducted in ancient Khuzdul, with long and traditional speeches conducted by the eldest member of each of the families; Víli’s great-grandmother and Sigin’adad for Dís. Bilbo couldn’t have understood much of the words spoken on his own, but he seemed to find it was enough to watch the two of them and listen to the cadence of their responses and vows. For what was left after that, Frerin explained in quiet murmurs, leaning across the seat.

When the final vows were being exchanged, Dís glanced out at them, and Frerin smiled back.

He would likely never have a wedding like this, but he would hardly begrudge his sister of the same. It wasn’t something he particularly desired, but he could see how much this day meant for Dís and Víli.

When he looked over at Bilbo, Frerin found that he wore a wistful smile on his face, and Frerin’s heart ached for him. Frerin reached over and pulled at Bilbo’s elbow until he allowed his arm to be moved, then slid his grip until they could hold each other’s hand. Bilbo gave him a quick smile before returning his attention to the Ushhan explaining Víli’s vows, and Frerin met Thorin’s gaze over his head. His expression was hard to read, a mix of joy and sadness and love and... perhaps a little confusion, but there was no reproach. He too returned Frerin’s smile before they watched the exchange of weapons.

Dís had selected her dual swords for the exchange, treasured weapons that had been passed down to her from their mother when Dís had been born. They were strong and fearsome weapons in her hands, and she wielded them with as much strength and familiarity as Thorin did with _Binamrâd_. Frerin hated the thought of seeing her pick up new weapons, putting these aside for no one’s use until their first born was old enough to wield them itself, but it was her wish and trying to sway her from it had done nothing.

Dís had been adamant. The weapons exchanged would be the first their children would wield upon becoming adults. The exchange of each dwarf’s tools declared that each would put their craft second to raising their children. Mahal may bless dwarfs with an ardent love for their craft, but the gift of a child was his mahdêl.

The ceremony concluded with Dís presenting her swords to Víli in a lavish double back scabbard she’d commissioned just for the occasion, and Víli handing his his bow and a quiver full of fine looking arrows.

. o O o .

The whole kingdom joined them to celebrate the joining of Raydûna  Dís and Gantu Rayad Víli. Their two families had a fine feast, plenty of food and ale and dance and song. Frerin enjoyed himself immensely, drinking heavily with Dwalin, eating plentifully with Bilbo, and dancing with as many dwarfs as he could convince, more than once with his nana’ and naddul.

Half way through the evening, he found himself at a table with his cousins watching Thorin approach Bilbo. They were too far to hear what his brother would say, but they had perfect views to watch each time as Thorin gathered his courage and take a few wobbly steps before stopping again to gaze at the ceiling, an action they had collectively decided was him sending a prayer for courage.

Thorin hadn’t made it more than halfway across the room since he’d left the table himself, and Frerin wondered if they would have to call him back to fortify his resolve or perhaps ply him with another drink. Thorin had come to them to practice his apology to Bilbo, and it was a good thing he had. His first attempt had been _disastrous_.

 _— Ma arzimi hurdel id-shagum_ 

_ Takhziri Bilbo yothur taglibi tada, lulukh lulkh! _

_Shosh kakhfith, akhalliki! — _

They’d gotten him _more_ prepared, at least, and now it was just a matter of hoping he could get himself to Bilbo and open his mouth.

Frerin caught Bilbo’s eye from across the room, and he burst out into another fit of hysterical giggles, hiding his face in his cousin’s robes. Bilbo had been watching Thorin’s progress almost from the beginning, his halting advancements enough to catch anyone’s attention who knew him well enough.

“Is Thorin apologizing?” Dís asked from behind him. Frerin tilted his head back and almost lost his balance on the seat to look at her, rosy cheeked and arm looped through her husband’s. Dís used her free hand to push him forward on the bench and sat down next to him. “You shouldn’t laugh.”

He turned this time and stared at her, _incredulous_. 

“And who are you now!” he asked his sister. “Víli, you must listen to me,” he said, reaching across her to grab his forearm. “She is putting on a show for you. She laughs at our brother too, she is just trying to make herself look better and me look bad.” But then Víli was laughing too, so it was alright. “And it’s only because he’s taken almost half the past hour to get from this table to where he is. You cannot look at the face Bilbo is making from waiting so long and not laugh!”

His sister did laugh then, as Bilbo was now looking in Thorin’s general direction from his seat as he listened to their father talk, careful to avoid actually making eye contact lest Thorin be startled into making a tactical retreat. “Oh Frerin, how much did you give him to drink? He'll never make an apology at this rate.”

“ _I_ did not give him any ale more than he drank on his own. If he felt he needed to drink so much to approach Bilbo then that was his own decision alone,” he defended. They watched as Thorin’s attention was caught by a table as he passed, and instead of continuing toward Bilbo, he made a detour toward one of the spreads of food. Frerin let his head loll to the other side, resting it softly on Dís' shoulder. “Although he usually doesn't have so much trouble, does he?”

It seemed at first as though he was biding his time, keeping himself busy as long as possible before he had to face Bilbo, but by the plate of food he was building, Frerin started to come to another conclusion.

“Is he going to try and fill the hobbit full of food and win him over that way?” Dáin asked the group.

Frerin let his head hang to the side as he contemplated his answer through the haze of ale. “It’s not such a bad plan as you make it sound. Hobbits are really quite fond of food. Although I worry that he will try to offer the food instead of the apology, and that won’t do at all.”

“I don’t see why not,” Dís said. “It would mean the same thing, whether it was words or a gesture.”

Thorin looked back at them, raising the overflowing plate of food in both hands as if seeking their approval. Dís nodded her head and mouthed, _Yes, good job_ , and Frerin rolled his eyes. Getting him into her own bad habits was what she was doing.

Thorin brought the plate over to Bilbo with a stern set to his expression and the two made their way to an empty corner of the room. Thorin presented him with the plate of food, and when it had passed hands, Thorin’s routine started.

Dís and Frerin were always particularly amused when Thorin gave someone an apology for the first time. He’d always had a flair for the dramatic, and it made its presence known during those times.

Thorin’s apologies always started with a very serious, and very _intimidating_ itemization his errors, before making an abrupt change to deep remorse and affection. To someone unused to this, it was quite a shock.

Although it wasn’t much better even when you _were_ expecting it, now that Frerin thought about it.

Bilbo had been the recipient of these apologies perhaps the most out of any of them, so where others tended to accept his apologies immediately in the face of such high displays of emotion coming from their usually serious brother, Bilbo often held out for a while. For the amount of patience and affection Bilbo managed to keep for him, Frerin thought it was fair enough that Thorin was kept worrying over Bilbo’s forgiveness, if just for a little while.

They had gotten to the remorseful and affectionate part of the apology by this point, judging by Thorin’s expression and the hand of Bilbo’s that he held between his own. After a moment and a few more indecipherable but indignant words, Bilbo’s expression melted from annoyance to a reluctant smile, still plenty of fondness therein, and Thorin lurched forward to envelop him into a hug.

“He really does care for his hobbit, doesn’t he?” Dáin asked.

“Yes, he does,” Frerin answered softly. Frerin looked away from his brother and back to his cousin. “Perhaps not yet freely, but he is learning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations courtesy of the Dwarven Scholar:**
> 
> Gabshel-dum - Hall of Treasure Stores (I know, I just used it for convenience)  
> Ushhad - Officiator, literally 'Marrier'  
> Sigin-adad - Grandfather, formal  
> Binamrad - Deathless, Thorin's sword  
> Mahdêl - The greatest blessing, literally 'Blessing of all Blessings'  
> Raydûna - Princess, literally 'Female Heir'  
> Gantu Rayad - Consort, literally 'Promise of the Heir'  
> Nana' - Sister  
> Naddul - Brother-in-Law, literally 'Brother-Like'  
> Ma arzimi hurdel id-shagum - I can't believe he struggles so much with just apologizing  
> Takhziri Bilbo yothur taglibi tada, lulukh lulkh! - He'll just make Bilbo more angry if he says that, the idiotic oaf!  
> Shosh kakhfith, akhalliki! - Shut up you assholes, I'm trying!
> 
> So I'm gonna probably post a couple of prequel chapters with the next (actual) chapter. I'll be sure to put a note at the beginning, but just wanted to give another heads-up :] 
> 
> Comments and | Kudos ♥ | if you enjoyed!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So things felt a little weird and I wasn't quite ready to move on to the next part, so I decided I wanted to add a little more before moving on. I'll be combining this chapter with the previous one in like a week or something since it's so short. Next chapter will be up as soon as I plug a few holes and translate a bunch of stuff into Khuzdul.
> 
> PS - Prequel chapters are really hard. You'll get them someday......

When Bilbo woke the next morning, he retired to the balcony etched into the side of the mountain, just off the path he would take back to his rooms. With the exception of meeting with Thorin and sometimes Frerin out here, Bilbo didn't think the dwarfs used the area often, even Bilbo's rooms too close to the surface of the mountain for their tastes. 

The morning was crisp and cool, the wind buffeted by the walls of the mountain that rose on either side of the landing. Bilbo had brought out his latest project, a patchwork quilt he'd begun making during his summer in the Shire. Frerin had commented on the robe he'd inherited from his father, and Bilbo thought it would make a nice gift in a few years, considering how slow of a project it was turing out to be. By the time Thorin arrived, the morning sun was fully up and Bilbo had set aside the blanket to relax with his first pipe of the day, for which he was glad. He’d been looking forward to spending this time with Thorin for months now, but that didn't mean his pride hadn't still been stung.

“Have I apologized yet?” Thorin asked as he entered the open air, walking around behind the stone bench Bilbo was sat on. 

"Yes," Bilbo answered, taking his pipe out of his mouth and resting the hand holding it on his knee. "But you could certainly apologize again, considering all the awful things you managed to put me through in the course of two days. One would think you weren't happy to see me," he accused.

"I _am_ sorry," Thorin told him, and he certainly looked it. He sat down on the bench angled together with Bilbo's, shoulders slumped and mouth pinched. "The whole kingdom was looking forward to your return all summer-"

"I know very well they were  _not-_ "

"They  _were_ ," Thorin insisted. Bilbo scowled at him, but didn't argue back. Bilbo knew very well who those were who were eager to see him return to the mountain, and they did nothing but complicate the matter further.

" _I_ was looking forward to it," Thorin huffed. "And I treated you in the worst manner I could as soon as you returned. What had you done to deserve that?" Thorin asked, shooting back out of his seat to pace against the flagstone tiles.

"Thorin, sit down-"

"I repeat the same mistake every time!" Thorin lamented, but he did sit down. "You are my  _One_ , and yet every time, I judge your feelings less important than that everyone recognize we hold no romance between ourselves. You are _important_ , and I do not treat you so."

"Well," Bilbo let out a gusty breath of smoke, "it's not really your fault they think that, now is it?" he asked.

"I didn't mean-"

"No, no, I wasn't trying to say you were," Bilbo amended. "Your feelings haven't changed for years now, so I can't imagine they will anytime soon. In any case, we've got nothing to live up to and nothing to prove, especially to them. That lot is a bunch of gossiping agitators." Bilbo gave an annoyed sniff at the clean morning air then took a drag at his pipe. "I don't blame you for being upset Thorin, but I do take issue when you dump it all on me."

Thorin nodded a moment before looking back up at him. "You deserve better," he murmured.

"Yes I do," Bilbo agreed.

Thorin followed his invitation, filling up his pipe and settling back into his seat before either of them spoke. “It’s been quite some time since we sat here last.”

Bilbo made a noise of assent and looked out at the rolling hills spread out below them, nothing but grass and pines and rock jutting from the ground as far as the eye could see. “It has," Bilbo sighed, letting the last of the tension leave him. "And I did miss this view.”

“You had safe travels then?”

Bilbo looked over at him. “Yes of course, safe as always. Why, is there some reason you would be worried?”

Thorin shifted, and when Bilbo looked up at him, he was met with an annoyed expression. “We got word that there were orcs spotted near Moria a few weeks ago. They didn’t have trouble taking them down, of course, but we were- I thought we should send out an escort to meet your party. The others said you would be fine.”

It was a touching sentiment and he was glad to know that Thorin had been thinking of them- of _him_  -while he was away, but Bilbo had to laugh. "What did they think a caravan of hobbits was going to do if we were attacked?"

"Lure them away with  _vegetables_ if I had to design a strategy," Thorin grumbled. He was sore about not being included in the plans dealing with the orcs then. Thorin and Dís both had been captivated by the idea of being in a heroic battle as long as Bilbo could remember

"You don't think I could fight a couple of orcs on my own?" Bilbo questioned. "I ought to be offended." 

"I should ask Dwalin if he has time enough for more sparring lessons for you then?" 

Bilbo wrinkled his nose and shook his head quickly. "Not  _that_ offended," he corrected, and stuck his pipe back in his mouth to keep from smiling.

There was plenty Bilbo wanted to ask Thorin about, plenty of things he knew he had to have missed during his summer away, but when Thorin took in a breath as if to speak, Bilbo stopped to wait and listen. When he didn’t continue right away, Bilbo turned to see Thorin pursing his lips. Bilbo let him pause to gather his thoughts; they had time. And silence didn’t indicate a lack of things to say, only a need for patience. Thorin had something on his mind, and it wouldn’t do to cut him off now.

When Thorin finally did speak, Bilbo was a little surprised.

“My brother tells me that you sold your house,” he finally murmured. Thorin was only looking at him from the corner of his eyes, face tilted between the floor and Bilbo. “You were always so proud of your parents’ home, I never thought that you would part with it.”

Bilbo’s brows twitched upward.

He’d certainly mentioned his family’s home in the Shire often enough, (how could he not, really) but he’d never had an actual conversation about it with Thorin. He was surprised that Thorin would have had an opinion on how long Bilbo would have his home. Bilbo couldn't help lingering for a moment on the fact that he had remembered.

“Well I didn’t sell it, I gifted it,” Bilbo settled on.

“Does this mean you will be spending more of your time in Erebor?” Thorin asked, and Bilbo was pleased to see that he looked hopeful at the prospect.

“No, no, I have relations there I’m not yet ready to abandon I’m afraid. It’s only that I already spend so little time in the Shire, only ever during the summers anymore, and it is such a large house. You remember that my cousin Drogo married this year?”

Thorin’s face took on a sheepish expression. “No, I don’t recall that,” he admitted.

“Meaning you weren’t listening,” Bilbo interpreted and leveled him an annoyed scowl. “Well Drogo married his sweetheart Primula and I wouldn't be surprised if they'll be expecting soon,” he explained. “Bag End will be of much more use to them than it will be to me.”

Bilbo took a final drag from his pipe and faced Thorin. “It is a comfort to hear that I would be welcomed in the Mountain during the rest of the year though. There are times that you have me wondering,” he goaded.

“I already apologized for my temper," Thorin griped.

“Yes, yes, I know. I shouldn’t tease." 

And he really shouldn't. For all that they had finally gotten back on the right footing, goading Thorin would only lead him into another temper. And this was so much nicer. Sitting out on the side of a mountain with his dwarf, the beginning rocky but the road ahead smooth. It wasn't... It wasn't  _quite_ what he wanted, no. Of course not.

But he would quite happily keep what he had for now.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skippable author shit: 
> 
> So I wrote up a prequel chapter when Bilbo and Thorin first met and it was reeeeeally shitty. I'm kind of sad that I decided not to include it cause it seems that something in the way I wrote Thorin makes him less sympathetic to a lot of the readers than I would like, but I'm also crazy relieved that finally letting myself cut it. So, we're just gonna consider that a casualty of me being a newish writer and move on.
> 
> [DestinysWindow](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DestinysWindow/pseuds/DestinysWindow) witnessed that chapter and beta'd it for me when I came begging at her inbox and _even found something to compliment in it_. That woman has skills, and deserves tons of thanks for what may be the quickest beta I've ever witnessed. I'm kind of sorry I made you read that, Jo.
> 
> Anyway, on to the _actually good_ chapter. I hope 5k makes up for the month+ I made you guys wait :]

The years since the wedding had passed quickly and with several events of note, though none bigger than the birth of the Rayduna's first child, and news that a second was soon on the way. With the news of a new heir, there was finally someone else for the kingdom to watch and fawn over, a preoccupation that Bilbo very much welcomed.

"So is this some grand mission from Thrór?" Víli asked. Bilbo grinned, but cut himself short of a snicker. Although Thrór had phrased his orders as though bestowing some great honor, he and everyone else knew this job had been tossed around a few times before. He supposed he appreciated the thought, but... Bilbo gave in and allowed himself a gust of laughter. Dwarven diplomacy could only go so far.

The two of them had just broken off the central spoke of roadways at the center of the mountain, and were now heading... Well, they were certainly going _up_ , and considering that Víli knew which direction they were heading, he was the one leading. Bilbo had his maps for when they parted ways, but that wouldn't be for a while yet. "He give you some sort of plan to follow or something?" 

"No, no," Bilbo answered as he scraped... _something_  off his foot. A few vents carved so far above the streets provided not nearly enough sunlight to see by. Certainly not with hobbit eyes. "No, I'm to try and figure out the problem myself. You lot aren't too fond of plants," Bilbo accuses as he leans closer to Víli. "And so funnily enough the King doesn't think a dwarf would fit the job."

Víli snorted. "Apologies for my wife's words."

Bilbo flapped his hand in Vili's general direction. He'd found out years ago that the dwarfs didn't value gardening or farming in any sense. Bilbo saw it as more of an amusing quirk than anything else anymore. "No, no, not what I was getting at. And I can guarantee you Thorin's likely said worse."

"Worse than Dís?" Víli asked.

Bilbo thought about it and had to reconsider. "Maybe not."

Erebor had been facing a dwindling supply of basic crops over the past few years despite Bilbo's hopes that the problem would resolve itself. The majority of the hobbits living here had initially come to the mountain under his mother’s guidance, seeking reliable shelter in the aftermath of the Fell Winter. Now that it was a distant memory in the minds of those in the Shire, there was little that would motivate any others to re-locate to the mountain. Bilbo was fairly certain that the only reason the Brandybucks had come to the mountain was a fond memory and loyalty to his parents. 

It was that sort of loyalty that had driven Thrór to appoint Bilbo as a liaison toward the hobbits living and supplying Erebor. For all the relations that he’d held up with the hobbits that remained in the Shire since his parents had passed, Bilbo had yet to spend much time at all in the areas where the other hobbits of the mountain lived.

He’d made the trip out of the Royal Precinct with Víli, who was making a trip of his own to a favorite shop in one of the lower districts of Erebor near his family’s old home. They had been planning on making the trip with Frerin as well, but he had backed out at the last minute to neither of their great surprise.

These trips had started as a good chance for Bilbo to get to know Víli, the time before the wedding having him wrapped up in getting to know the members of his new family, and of course, in Dís. He’d found Víli surprisingly… well, _sedate_ , if he was honest, especially for a dwarf. He’d caused quite a stir in the mountain when he and Dís had first met, his family’s low station and relative inability to wield anything anywhere near as well as his bow leading many to doubt his worthiness as the Sanze of a member of the royal family.

Now that Bilbo had met him properly, he could see where people may get such an impression. In joining the royal family, Víli would be expected to take up some station of responsibility, and he was remarkably quiet. Given that not many had gotten the chance to talk to the dwarf in person, it was easy to assume that his lack of words or eloquent responses stemmed from some great ignorance or general indifference to the happenings of the kingdom. After talking with the soft-spoken dwarf, Bilbo suspected that he was instead, like Thorin in that much of the time he simply preferred to listen more than talk.

“If they’re going to underestimate me, I see nothing wrong with taking advantage of it,” he’d said. “It seems like you’re probably in the same position as me in many ways.”

At the time, Bilbo had felt the temptation to be rankled by the suggestion, but there was no denying the truth in it. He was indeed looked down upon by many of the dwarves as much as he was revered by others, especially the further he got from the Durins.

They’d parted ways a few streets back, and Bilbo was fairly certain he was approaching the Hobbit District now. He’d not been there since he was a faunt and it was a new development, not even finished in its construction. That part of the mountain had previously been relegated as uninhabitable by the dwarfs save for renovations too extensive to be worth their time. A portion of the wall to the mountain had caved in to due to natural or manufactured causes, Bilbo didn’t know, but it created a large area of old buildings and now cleared space, strong and steady in construction, but open to sunshine and the rest of the world.

Bilbo was looking forward to feeling the sunshine on his face, perhaps even soft soil under his toes. In this part of the mountain, the dwarfs’ houses and shops were hewn into stone, the outer walls of buildings reaching from floor to ceiling and creating a boxed-in labyrinth of roads and alleyways. Even though the spaces were plenty wide and tall, and there were plenty of dwarfs and carts and stands throughout, the area made Bilbo feel claustrophobic in a way that the rest of the mountain didn’t. This was an area where it was glaringly obvious that they lived in a kingdom within a mountain, no daylight to be seen from within or outside of any of the buildings.

The dwarfs didn’t seem to mind it though. Bilbo had been told as much several times over; that a dwarf could easily go days, and may even _prefer_ to do so, without stepping foot in fresh air, a notion he found altogether unfathomable.

As he made his way toward the Hobbit District, he let his gaze wander over the dwarfs in the busy road, and let the sounds of their talking wash over him. He was unaccustomed to being in such a busy area inside the mountain, but he supposed in some ways it did remind him of the market in the Shire. There were dwarfs milling about in every direction; a father and daughter bartering over a swath of plain fabric, a group carrying pickaxes and wearing sullied clothes that he would guess were on their way home from a night’s work in the mines, and save for a few degrees of separation, this wasn’t altogether unfamiliar.

“Yomaktu sharbragân!”

Bilbo turned his head but couldn’t place exactly who had said it. Not that it even really mattered. It was just that he was fairly certain he was the only hobbit in the area. It seemed like to slim a chance that they just so happened to be talking about hobbits when he happened to be walking down the street.

He continued on his way; he was supposed to turn when he came to a tailor’s shop.

“Kuf hu yadi” he heard the voice say again.

“Izri!” answered another. Bilbo turned his head and found the pair of dwarves that were talking about him. He was really quite certain now.

“Ihhudul kuddumi,” the first complained. The dwarf was looking right at him. The dwarf was hard to miss, and Bilbo raised his eyebrows. He was most certainly _not_ going the wrong way. He had a _map_.

“Akdami lu Kâzbunab,” said the one with the curled hat.

“Lu, lu, ignêg yom,” he assured them.

“He speaks Khuzdul!” the other exclaimed. 

“Well I live in the mountain, don’t I? I’ve at least picked up enough to know at least when people are talking about me.”

“Ah,” the hatted dwarf said with a satisfyingly contrite expression. “Well you’ll be wanting to go that way in any case,” he pointed.

“Oh, no, I just came from that direction,” Bilbo responded with a placid smile. Now that he’d set that dwarf straight, he was ready to get going again. He didn’t need to stick around for a set of dwarfish directions. “I’m quite certain I should be going this way.”

“You’re only going to reach the end of town that way, and there’s no shame in being lost.”

The first dwarf rolled his eyes and pivoted off the ledge the two were sitting on, walking away. Bilbo turned back to the dwarf with the hat. “I’m not lost. I’ll have you know I’m quite good with directions.” 

“Are you now?” the dwarf with the hat laughed. The _nerve_. “Alright then. Say hello to the hobbits for me when you get there,” he said, and tipped his hat before turning and walking off after his friend.

Bilbo did _not_ gawp at the dwarf's sudden departure. He didn't.

He took off in the direction he'd been heading in the first place and kept a brisk pace.

All in all, it hadn't been all that bad of an encounter. He obviously hadn't been recognized, for which he was grateful. The dwarfs of Erebor usually had strong feelings about his place in the mountain whether positive or decidedly _not,_ but he didn't particularly feel like dealing with either one of them.

Bilbo wound his way in the general direction he needed to go, the streets slowly emptying as he made his way along. He... Well, he realized that he'd likely walked past the tailor's while talking to the dwarfs back a ways, but he could likely fix his path on his own. According to the map the roads were all interconnected, so as long as he stayed headed in the right direction (although how dwarfs managed to do so without the aid of the sun or stars Bilbo had never been able to figure out) he should be fine. There was meant to be a large intersection, a common area he had marked on his map where he should be able to recapture the path Víli had helped him pick out.

There had been a sort of fork a while before and he hadn't thought he would need to adjust his angle that far but... Perhaps he should have taken it? He didn't want to turn around though, not when he could run into that dwarf again.

Bilbo peered down one of the alleyways on his right. The Hobbit District was in an open-air area of the mountain. If he could see sunlight...

“Still not lost?” a voice asked from far too close above him, and Bilbo barely managed to keep a hold of his maps without crumpling them as he whipped around to find the dwarf from before grinning back at him. He was sitting half way out of a large window, barely a foot above and behind him, backlit by a string of lanterns hanging from the ceiling of the road. Bilbo forced himself to loosen his grip and release his annoyance.

“I owe you an apology,” Bilbo pouted. “I suppose I didn't really know where I was going after all.”

“Well that's no problem at all,” the dwarf replied, swinging his legs out of the window and hopping down onto the cobbled road. “It’s the mark of a good dwarf who can admit his mistakes. The name’s Bofur.”

“Bilbo,” he replied sticking out his own hand, only to be pulled forward into a loose hug, the dwarf’s other hand clapping his back. Bilbo hadn’t been able to stop himself from wincing, caught by surprise and his past experience leaving him fearful of ringing ears and a cracked skull.

“Experience with dwarves, I take it?” Bofur asked when they parted, still holding him for a moment by the shoulders. “I used to see a fair number of hobbits in my shop back in the Blue Mountains. I’ve only just moved, actually, but I learned right quick that hobbits don’t enjoy a proper dwarfish greeting! Soft skulls you lot have!”

Bilbo scrunched his nose up in indignation, but nonetheless moved along with the hand on his shoulder leading him forward. “We most certainly do not have soft skulls. They just aren't made of stone." He got only another good-natured grin in return, and Bilbo couldn’t decide whether he wanted to stay upset or not.

“If ya like you can come back later, next time you feel like leaving your hobbit hole. My shop’s just over there if you need somethin for the little ones,” he added, pointing with a glove-covered finger. “Finest in all the Blue Mountains, and hopefully Erebor soon enough as well. We could always use some more business, hardly see any of you hobbits up this way.”

“I don’t-“ Well, he had been preparing to say that he didn’t live in the Hobbit District, but… what did it really matter? “Right,” he settled on with a nod. There certainly was another dwarfling on the way, and it wouldn’t hurt to be on friendly terms with someone in this part of town. He would make sure to stop by. “I’ll do that.”

“Glad to hear it. Now, off with you,” he dismissed with a push to Bilbo’s back. “Best not stick around while Nori still has his eye on you.”

"Nori?"

"The one that was with me earlier. Not so bad once you get to know him, but...

“But I haven't gotten to know him," Bilbo finished to a rueful smile, and couldn't help but return it. "Well, thank you again Master Bofur,” he called as he started down the road. “And I should hope that I will see you again soon.”

“See you soon, Master Hobbit.”

. o O o .

Bofur was indeed right. Bilbo had only to walk a couple of blocks before he was able to see the first hints of daylight.

He quickened his pace as he got nearer, and when he stepped through a final small archway, the sun blinded him to the point that he would have walked straight off the ledge if a heavy stone railing hadn’t been carved to protect against such a fall. When he was able to make his way along the bridge to escape the glare, he was rendered completely speechless.

It was true he’d been here when he was a faunt, but his memory had hardly done it justice. Where he remembered only the remnants of a caved-in wall, rough rock outcroppings, and the beginnings of what would soon be repurposed hobbit holes, he now saw fields of crops that could almost be described as lush spreading out below him, interspersed with tiny hobbit workers. The miniature world was encased by the still-intact roof and inner walls of the giant cavern, with stories upon stories of dust motes floating through open air, lit by the incoming rays of morning light. In the missing wall of the mountain, there was instead a row of stone columns. They seemed impossibly tall, and had to be impossibly strong, as they appeared to be the only thing supporting the rest of cave, and therefore the mountain. He could see through the hole in the far wall that they were indeed quite far up the mountain, the plains and hills below casting him into a momentary dizziness.

To the dwarfs, this had long been unused space, but it was suited well enough to hobbits, if hobbits were of a mind to live in a mountain instead of a hobbit hole. Where Bilbo had his balcony and windows to the outside of the mountain to give him access to plenty of fresh air and sunlight, the hobbits here had an entire open-air area of the mountain in which to make their homes, and more importantly, grow crops for the rest of Erebor.

Dwarfs were terribly scandalized by the very idea of growing their own produce for the food on their plates or the clothes on their backs, much less for a pleasurable pastime. It seemed that the arrangement between the two races worked out rather well for each; the hobbits receiving protection and the steady run of supplies a place like the Shire couldn’t guarantee, and the Dwarfs receiving a direct supply of those crops needed to run their city.

By the time that he made his way down the sloping paths and bridges winding their way across the back wall of the cavern and to the ground level, he was surrounded by hobbits. It was unthinkably strange, and he found himself frozen to the spot for a great while, overwhelmed by the bustle of bodies around him.

These hobbits were admittedly more… Well he supposes _unkempt_ would work serviceably well.

Not a single hobbit back in the Shire would have been caught wearing such worn and weary clothes. Faded colors and ripped pant legs pointed to a lack of upkeep apparently shared by all those that lived here. As he watched them, he realized that there were also several hobbits that were wearing garments made of fabrics common to the dwarfs in the Mountain and the men of Dale. It appeared that the hobbits had come to adopt what was available to them, and he supposed that made some sort of sense.

It was just that he supposed he’d been expecting a smaller version of the Shire, which was silly of him now that he was thinking it. Of course they were free to live however they pleased. They were hobbits living in a mountain of dwarfs. He supposed he probably had more in common with these hobbits than he might expect.

He shook his head and looked around. He was actually looking for a relative of his. Lobelia was her name. She had married into the family fairly recently, from what he could gather, to his cousin Otho. Bilbo could remember that he’d been a sweet boy when they were children. Although he wouldn’t say the same of Lobelia, he did have to admit that it had been years since Bilbo had seen either of them. In any case, he was looking forward to reconnecting with them.

“Excuse me,” he called to a passing hobbit.

When her eyes landed on him, he got a scrutinizing look from beneath a worn green bonnet before an expression of recognition took over her face. “Oh, are you the dwarf prince’s fiancé?” he asked.

Well, that may have been true a decade ago, but surely they’d heard with the rest of the mountain? Bilbo opened his mouth to explain, but- “Of course you are. Aren’t enough people here for us to not know anyone,” she said with a grin. “I must tell you, I’m so glad you’re here. You’ll be looking for Lobelia then, won’t you?”

Bilbo smiled, a touch bemused. “Uh, yes. That’s me,” he told her. “And who I’m looking for,” he added on in a rush. “You wouldn’t be able to show me the way to find her, would you?”

“Well, no, I haven’t time to show you myself,” she said, nodding to a basket of crushed grains on her hip, “but I can point you in the right direction. She’ll be working on the records right now, so you’ll be wanting to go that way.” She motioned with her free hand, and Bilbo turned to look in the direction she was indicating. “She lives on the second level, their name will be listed outside on the mailbox.”

Bilbo turned back to his with a brief push onto his toes, “Well, I won’t keep you. My thanks, and good morning.”

“Good morning!” she called, and left toward what Bilbo suspected would be a grain storage building.

Bilbo made his own way to the wall of stone, just under the passageway he had taken to get here. These were the smials he remembered being built when he was young. The burrows here were stacked, several layers of homes nestled into the rock atop each other, accessible from pathways spanning each level. In this area of the district, there were the same round doors and windows of the Shire, painted faded hues of blue and red and green, strange in their contrast against stone instead of grass and dirt.

He climbed a steep staircase, ever so slightly too shallow to be comfortable to hobbit feet, and made his way across the wooden floorboards until he found _Sackville-Baggins_ inscribed in angular Westron upon what must surely still be a mailbox, painted a startlingly bright green covered in a frankly gaudy number of brass decorations.

Bilbo knocked on the door, and after a moment it was opened to reveal a hobbit that looked remarkably like his Uncle Longo.

“Oh, you’ll be Bilbo then, come in, come in!” Otho greeted. Bilbo was ushered across the threshold and led into the home by a hand on his back and another on his elbow.

“Is that _him_? Is he here?” A voice called from further in.

“That’ll be my wife Lobelia,” Otho murmured. Although there were years of aging that had stretched his face, this was still his cousin Otho, with the same loose curls and heavy brows that belied his affable personality. “Yes, it’s him!” he called back to his wife. “I’ll be making him a pot of tea now!” Otho led him through the entryway and into a kitchen. “I’m so pleased that you’re finally able to come for a visit, cousin. Last time I’ve seen your face was back west.” Otho had him sit at a stone table as he hung a copper pot over the fire, and they continued exchanging brief accounts of what had transpired since each of their pilgrimages to life in Erebor.

The house was certainly of dwarven make, box-like living quarters with high ceilings and decorative trim around square doorways. It certainly felt roomier than the smials of the Shire, but it was lacking in a certain coziness that he missed in his own quarters as well.

Otho rushed back over to the pot which had started boiling, and poked his head into the main entry way before setting it on the table. “You must know that we are all very happy to have you here Bilbo,” he said in a low voice.

“Well of course, Otho, you’ve been nothing but welcoming since I arrived-“

“No- Well _yes_ , thank you, but that wasn’t my worry, it’s just that-“ Otho looked toward the doorway again with obvious unease, “My wife, she has high hopes for growth here-“

“As does the rest of the mountain, Otho, I assure you. And I will do whatever I can to help you, of course.”

“You think so cousin?”

“Well certainly,” Bilbo assured him. For what purpose had Otho thought was sent? He continued as he heard the slap of bare feet against stone in the next room, “It is in everyone’s best interests that more efficient methods are developed-“

“I _told you_ he was going to say the _same things_ as those dwarfs!”

Lobelia entered the room carrying a thin sheaf of papers, whacking them against her husband’s back as she passed behind him, and Bilbo couldn’t help but lean back in his seat when she addressed him. “I’ve _told_ that weasel Smaug that we already _have_ a solution to raise the cotton crop if the fool of a dwarf would even listen.”

“You have a solution?” Bilbo asked, incredulous. “Why would you have me come here if you already have a solution in hand?”

“ _I_ didn’t request you come down here, Bilbo Baggins, no matter that it’s a pleasure to see you again in any case.” Bilbo frowned. It certainly didn’t seem as if she found it a pleasure. “I am the head representative of those hobbits living in the Mountain-“ she cut herself off with an agitated shake of her head. “ _Was_ , it seems,” she corrected herself, “before _your_ position was created.“

Otho picked up the kettle and poured into each of the three cups on the table. “I’m sure he didn’t mean to step on any toes, dear,“ he placated.

“No no no, certainly not!” Bilbo scrambled to say. “I wouldn’t have any position at all if I had any say-“

“No, I’m sure you wouldn’t,” Lobelia interrupted. “What with the life you’ve got for yourself up in that mountain, I wouldn’t have been surprised if you never made your way down at all had the dwarf King not sent you down to get us in line.” Lobelia snapped the papers down in front of him. “You’ll have to excuse my frustration, Bilbo, but we have been doing no better than shouting at walls these past months, and I must say I am not as optimistic as the other here as to how much help you’ll be willing to give us.”

The papers turned out to be an itemized list of demands on behalf of the hobbits, ranging from higher compensation to building permits in areas outside the Hobbit District to both the renovation of existing and addition of new housing. Bilbo supported his forehead on his hand and read through the specifics while Lobelia continued speaking.

“The hobbits here have grown up and grown in number, and yet we have been expected to live in the same burrows that were arranged for those who settled here twenty years ago. It simply isn’t feasible for the King to be telling you to bring back more hobbits to work the fields when there isn’t even enough room for us to live as it is. I would wager you hadn’t thought of that, had you?” Bilbo peered up at Lobelia. He certainly had not thought of that. He hadn’t even been told it was a concern. “Thank Eru you didn’t manage to bring back more than just those Brandybucks, although I daresay you could have tried for a more respectable family, Bilbo Baggins. Bell has enough to do without finding a way to fit another family in here, what with having a newborn in the home and his husband being in charge of the wheat fields.”

Bilbo sighed as he leafed through the different pages. He was certain that a few extra living quarters would be awarded without issue, but he really hadn’t prepared to deal with such things. He was only here to view the fields, perhaps find space for a few more to be tilled, and leave!

“They do have a place to stay though? For now, I mean,” Bilbo asked, sitting back in his seat.

“Well it’s not as if we are going to act as if there will actually be more housing anytime soon. We’ve arranged ourselves so that they have their own home, what with all the faunts that family has.”

“Good, that’s good,” Bilbo sighed, a little overwhelmed. He couldn’t imagine facing the Brandybuck family again if they’d come to work in Erebor and then had to share a smial with another group. Bilbo ran his fingers over his chin and continued. “I expect there has been some miscommunication as far as the housing is concerned. I’ll do what I can to get this sorted as soon as possible-“

Lobelia let out a sharp breath from her nose and faced away from Bilbo. When he paused, she said, perhaps a bit waspishly, “Go on, say what you need then we’ll all move along.”

Bilbo’s brows lowered in confusion- had he offended her? -And he looked at Otho, but he merely gestured for him to continue.

“Well… Well the other items on the list I’m not so sure about. I _do_ think that these things would come easier once the crop production is back up to what it used to be.” Lobelia turned her face to look back at him. “Perhaps if another field was planted. The numbers wouldn’t have to be restored all at once; I’m certain King Thrór would be pleased to see any progress being made.” He faltered at Lobelia’s expression, a mix of anger and disappointment.

“And where does _King Thrór_ propose that we plant this extra field?” he asked. “You’ve seen the space available to us. We’ve hardly any space where your promised homes may go, let alone the several fields we would need to add to keep pace with what was produced in the past.”

“Well what about condensing the fields that are already established? A fair amount of space would be gained from planting the crops closer together. Or perhaps if they were watered more-“

“If they were _watered more_!” Lobelia exclaimed. “To think, I was worried over making a bad impression on Belladonna Baggins’ son, and he doesn’t know the first thing about farming the land. Otho, your cousin is as bad as a dwarf! Tell me,” he said, addressing Bilbo, “What precisely were you expecting to do here without knowing the first thing about what we do? ”

Bilbo reared back, indignant. “I’ll have you know, I’ve maintained my father’s garden since his death-“

“It is an utter _farce_ that the dwarves have put half a hobbit in charge of our entire district, simply because your intended happens to be in line for the throne-“

“Lobelia! You cannot say such things,” Otho pleaded, but Bilbo had already bolted from his chair and was heading toward the front door. “Bilbo, I apologize for my wife’s words, he is just upset. It’s just, we’ve been here so many years without change, and I think she is disappointed that there is not as much change as she had expected. Bilbo, please stay for another cup of tea, settle everyone’s nerves.”

“I’m sorry, Otho, but I must leave now,” he said with an uncomfortable nod. All he wanted to do was get away from everyone; go sit in his apartments in peace. “It was of course a pleasure to see you again,” he grimaced as he turned the knob to the door. It was years and years since he’d heard that particular insult, most peoples’ mouths silenced by either his mother’s reputation or the stir caused when the station of his match had been revealed.

“Of course,” Otho agreed. He was wearing a forced smile, and Bilbo wished he was leaving his cousin on better terms, but it wasn’t as if he had the fortitude to even sit through another cup of tea. “I do hope you’ll return soon,” Otho said.

“Yes, I’m sure I will. And I will see you then,” Bilbo answered. He turned and made his way down the walkway and back across the fields. Perhaps he would have more luck speaking with the head of the farmers. Bell’s husband. He would have to remember that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put an extra-minimal amount of effort into making the Khuzdul translations accurate-ish in this chapter (but i figured you guys wouldn't mind). In any case,
> 
>  **Translations in this chapter were made possible (as always) by the work of the Dwarrow Scholar  
> **  
>  Yomaktu sharbragân! - More hobbits!  
> Kuf hu yadi? - Why is he here?  
> Ihhudul kuddumi - He's going the wrong way  
> Akdami lu Khâzbunab - Maybe he's not going to the Hobbit District (this was the most BS'd translation omg)  
> Lu, lu, ignêg yom - No, no, that is where I'm going


End file.
